UCSB  LIBRARY 


VEROTCHKA'S  TALES 


Gy 

MAMINs* 
SIBERJAK 


TRANSLATED    BY 

RAY  DAVIDSON 


ILLUSTRATED  BY 
BORIS  M- 
ARTABASHEFF 

o 


Copyright,  1922, 
By  E.  P.  DUTTON  &  COMPANY 

40  riyhtt  reserved 


Printed  in  the  United  State*  of  AmtrUa 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

How  THEY  HAPPENED i 

THE  STORY  OF  A  BOLD  RABBIT  WITH  COCK  EYES 
AND  A  SHORT  TAIL 3 

THE  STORY  OF  LITTLE  CACINELLA       ...       13 

THE   STORY  OF   MOSQUITO    LONG-NOSE   AND 

FUZZY  BEAR,  MISHKA  SHORT-TAIL      .  25 

VANKA'S  BIRTHDAY 40 

THE  STORY  OF  MASTER  SPARROW,  MASTER 
STICKELBACK  AND  THE  JOLLY  CHIMNEY- 
SWEEP, YASHA 62 

THE  STORY  OF  THE  LAST  FLY 82 

THE  STORY  OF  A  BLACK-HEADED  CROW  AND  A 
LITTLE  YELLOW  CANARY 106 

THE  WISEST  OF  ALL 129 

THE  STORY  OF  LITTLE  MILK,  LITTLE  CEREAL 
AND  GRAY  KITTEN,  MOORKA  ....  153 

BED  TIME  166 


VEROTCHKA'S  TALES 


HOW  THEY  HAPPENED 


ULLA-LULLABY.  Verotchka's 
one  little  eye  is  sleeping,  the 
other  little  eye  is  still  open. 
Verotchka's  one  little  ear  is 
sleeping,  the  other  little  ear  is 
still  listening.  Sleep,  Verotchka,  sleep, 
my  pretty  one,  and  father  will  tell  you 
these  stories.  I  think  they  are  all  here. 
The  Siberian  cat,  Vasca ;  the  shaggy  village 
dog,  Postoika;  the  gray  mousie-gnawers ; 
the  cricket  behind  the  stove;  the  irides- 
cent starling  in  the  cage;  and  the  cock, 
the  bully. 

Sleep,  Verotchka,  the  story  begins. 
The  full  moon  in  the  heaven  looks  into 
the  window.  The  cock-eyed  rabbit  hops 


on  his  haunches  and  the  wolf's  eyes  flash 
yellow  fire  lights.  The  bear,  Mishka,  is 
sucking  his  paw,  and  the  old  sparrow  flies 
up  to  the  window,  pecks  the  pane  with  his 
bill,  and  asks,  "How  soon,  now?" 

I  think  they're  all  here  now,  waiting  for 
Verotchka's  Tale. 

Verotchka's  one  little  eye  is  asleep,  the 
other  little  eye  is  still  open.  Verotchka's 
one  little  ear  is  asleep,  the  other  little  ear 
is  still  listening,  Lulla-Lullaby. 


MMM          MMH 

THE  STORY  OF  A  BOLD  RABBIT  WITH 
COCK  EYES  AND  A  SHORT  TAIL 

HIS  rabbit  was  born  in  the 
woods  and  was  scared  of 
everything.  If  a  branch 
cracked  anywhere  or  a  bird 
flew  past  or  a  lump  of  snow 


fell  from  a  tree,  his  rabbit  heart  went 
down,  down,  down  into  his  furry  boots. 
Now  this  little  rabbit  was  afraid  for  a  day, 
for  two  days,  for  a  week,  for  a  whole  year. 
But  when  he  was  grown  up,  he  just  got 
tired  of  being  a  scared  rabbit._ 

"I  am  not  afraid  of  anybody!"  he 
shouted  through  the  woods.  "I  am  not 
afraid  at  all !  I  am  not  afraid  of  anything 
or  of  anybody,  and  that's  all  there  is  to  it!" 

One  day,  the  rabbits  gathered  to  listen 
to  him.  The  little  ones  ran,  the  old  rabbits 
hobbled  along  to  hear  Long-Ear,  Cock- 
Eye,  Short-Tail's  boastings. 

They  listened  and  couldn't  believe  their 
own  ears,  for  there  never  had  been  any- 
thing like  a  rabbit,  unafraid  of  anything 
or  anybody  before. 

"Oh,  you  Cock-Eye,"  called  one,  "do 
you  mean  to  say  you  aren't  even  afraid  of 
a  wolf?" 


"Not  even  a  wolf,  nor  a  fox,  nor  a  bear. 
I  am  afraid  of  no  one,"  said  Cock-Eye. 

Now  this  was  altogether  too  amusing. 
The  little  rabbits  giggled,  covering  their 
faces  with  their  front  paws.  The  kind  old 
mother  rabbits  laughed  and  even  the  wise 
old  rabbits,  who  had  had  a  taste  of  the 
paws  of  the  fox,  and  had  felt  the  fangs  of 
the  wolf,  smiled.  So  very  funny  was  this 
rabbit  that  suddenly  everyone  was  seized 
with  merriment.  They  started  jumping, 
tumbling,  turning  somersaults,  and  play- 
ing tag  as  if  they  had  all  suddenly  gone 
mad, 

"What  is  the  use  of  talking  so  much," 
finally  shouted  Cock-Eye,  drunk  with  his 
own  boldness.  "I  tell  you  if  I  were  to 
meet  a  wolf,  I'd  eat  him  up  myself." 

"My,  what  a  funny  rabbit  1"  said  the 
crowd.  "And  what  a  foolish  rabbit,  too." 
They  all  knew  he  was  funny  and  foolish ; 


still  they  laughed  at  him  and  jested  with 
him  about  the  wolf.  And  as  they  were 
speaking  of  the  wolf,  the  wolf  stood  right 
there  listening,  though  they  did  not  see 
him. 

The  wolf  was  walking  through  the 
forest  on  his  own  wolfish  business.  Then 
he  grew  hungry  and  began  to  think  how 
fine  it  would  be  to  have  a  bit  of  fresh  rab- 
bit. Suddenly  quite  near  by,  he  heard 
rabbits  talking,  laughing  and  shouting  his 
name.  He  stopped  short,  sniffed  the  air 
and  crept  nearer  and  nearer.  When  he 
was  very  near  the  merry-making  rabbits, 
he  learned  that  they  were  making  sport 
of  him,  and  that  Cock-Eye,  Long-Ear, 
Short-Tail  was  laughing  at  him  more  than 
anyone  else. 

"Eh,  Brother!  Just  wait  and  I'll  gobble 
you  up,"  said  the  Gray  Wolf  to  himself, 


as  he  tried  to  spy  out  the  boastful,  bold 
rabbit. 

Meanwhile,  the  rabbits,  aware  of  noth- 
ing, made  merry  and  merrier.  Finally, 
the  boaster  climbed  up  on  the  stump  of  a 
tree,  sat  on  his  hind  legs,  and  said, 

"Hear,  all  ye  cowards !  Listen  and  look 
at  me !  Now  I  will  show  you  some  tricks. 
I  ....  I  ....  I  .  ..." 

The  words  were  frozen  on  his  lips,  for 
just  then  he  saw  the  wolf  looking,  looking 
straight  at  him.  The  other  rabbits  did  not 
see  the  wolf,  but  Cock-Eye  did  and  he 
didn't  dare  to  breathe. 

Then  happened  the  most  extraordinary 
thing.  Through  sheer  fear,  the  Boaster 
jumped  up  like  a  rubber  ball,  fell  on  the 
wide  forehead  of  the  wolf,  rolled  over  his 
back,  turned  a  somersault  in  the  air, 
landed  on  his  feet,  and  ran  as  if  he  were 
trying  to  run  out  of  his  skin. 


358* 


Long,  long  did  the  unfortunate  rabbit 
run.  It  seemed  to  him  the  wolf  was  right 
behind  him  and  that  in  another  moment 
he  would  feel  the  wolf's  fangs.  The  poor 
limp  rabbit  ran  on  until  he  had  no 
strength  left  and  finally  he  closed  his  eyes 
and  fell  under  a  bush,  dead  with  weari- 
ness. 

Meanwhile,  the  wolf  was  running  in 
another  direction.  When  the  rabbit  fell 
on  his  forehead,  the  wolf  thought  he  had 
been  hit  by  a  gun  shot  and  he  ran  away  as 
fast  as  he  could,  saying  to  himself,  "There 
are  plenty  of  other  rabbits  in  the  forest. 
This  one  seems  quite  crazy  anyway  and 
not  fit  to  eat." 

Now  for  a  long  time  the  other  rabbits 
did  not  realize  what  had  happened.  Some 
ran  into  the  bushes,  some  hid  behind 
stumps,  others  crawled  into  their  holes. 
After  a  while  they  grew  tired  of  hiding 


fttt&tfc 

°*«4*V 


and  little  by  little,  they  crept  out  and 
looked  around. 

Then  said  one,  "Our  rabbit  certainly 
scared  that  wolf.  If  it  had  not  been  for 
him,  few  of  us  would  have  escaped  alive. 
But  where  is  he,  our  Fearless  One?" 

And  everyone  began  looking  for  him. 
They  looked  everywhere,  but  Cock-Eye 
was  nowhere  to  be  found.  They  began  to 
think  the  Gray  ^Wolf  had  eaten  him  up, 
when  they  discovered  him,  lying  in  a  hole 
under  a  bush,  almost  dead  from  fear. 

"Good  for  you,  Cock-Eye,"  shouted  the 
rabbits  all  in  one  voice.  "You  certainly 
frightened  that  wolf  very  cleverly.  We 
thought  you  were  boasting  all  the  time, 
when  you  were  telling  us  you  were  not 
afraid  of  anything  or  anybody." 

At  once  the  bold  rabbit  came  to  life. 
He  crept  out  of  the  hole,  shook  himself, 
squinted  his  eyes,  and  said: 


"And  what  did  you  think,  you  cow- 
ards?" 

And  from  that  day,  the  bold  rabbit  was 
convinced  that  he  was  really  not  afraid  of 
anyone. 


" 


IMMM 


THE  STORY  OF  LITTLE  CACINELLA 

I 

OW  and  where  little  Cacinella 
was  born,  no  one  knows.  It 
happened  one  sunny  day 
in  spring.  Little  Cacinella 
looked  around  and  said, 


„ 


"Very  nice."  She  stretched  her  tiny 
wings,  rubbed  one  little  thin  leg  against 
the  other,  looked  around  again  and  said : 

"How  very,  very  nice !  How  warm  the 
sun !  How  blue  the  sky !  How  green  the 
grass !  How  very,  very  nice !  and  all  this 
is  mine!" 

Rubbing  one  little  leg  against  the  other 
once  more,  little  Cacinella  began  to  fly. 
She  flew  and  looked  around  and  rejoiced. 
Beneath  her,  the  grass  was  green,  and  hid- 
den in  its  bosom,  was  a  crimson  flower. 

"Little  Cacinella,  come  to  me,"  called 
the  flower. 

Cacinella  came  down  to  the  ground, 
climbed  into  the  flower  and  sipped  its 
sweet  nectar. 

"How  kind  you  are,  little  flower,"  said 
Cacinella,  rubbing  her  mouth  with  one  of 
her  little  thin  legs. 


"Yes,  I  may  be  kind,  but  I  cannot  walk," 
complained  the  flower. 

"Still,  the  world  is  lovely,"  said  little 
Cacinella,  "and  it  is  all  mine,  too." 

She  had  hardly  finished,  when  a  hairy 
drone  flew  down  upon  the  flower  with  a 
loud  buzz. 

"Buzz!  Buzz!  Who  dares  to  get  into 
my  flower?  Buzz!  Buzz!  Who  dares 
to  sip  my  sweet  nectar?  Buzz!  Buzz! 
Oh,  you  nasty  little  Cacinella,  get  away 
from  here!  Buzz!  Buzz!  Get  away 
or  I'll  sting  you  to  death." 

"I  say,  what  does  this  mean?"  piped 
little  Cacinella.  "Everything  is  mine." 

"Buzz!    Buzz!    No,  it's  mine." 

Little  Cacinella  was  barely  able  to 
escape  from  the  angry  drone.  She  crept 
into  the  grass,  licked  her  thin  little  legs, 
sticky  with  flower  nectar,  and  said  angrily : 

"How  rude  that  drone  was!    It's  quite 


amazing!  He  even  tried  to  sting  me  to 
death !  Why,  aren't  they  all  mine,  the  sun 
and  the  grass  and  the  flower  I" 

"No,  pardon  me.  They  are  all  mine," 
said  a  fuzzy  Caterpillar,  crawling  along  a 
blade  of  grass.  Little  Cacinella  realized 
that  a  caterpillar  cannot  fly,  so  she  grew 
bold. 

"Pardon  me,  Mr.  Caterpillar.  You  are 
mistaken.  I  do  not  interfere  with  your 
crawling.  Don't  argue  with  me." 

"Very  well.  Pray  don't  touch  my 
grass.  To  tell  you  the  truth,  I  don't  like 
it.  So  many  of  you  fly  about  here.  You 
are  all  such  light-minded  creatures ;  while 
I,  Caterpillar,  am  a  serious  person.  To  be 
frank,  everything  is  mine.  I  crawl  along 
a  blade  of  grass  and  I  eat  it  up.  I  get  into 
a  flower  and  I  eat  that  up.  Good  day." 


16 


II 


a  few  hours,  little  Cacinella 
learned  many  things.  She  learned 
that  besides  the  sun,  the  blue  sky 
and  the  green  grass,  there  are 
angry  drones,  serious  caterpil- 
lars, thorns  on  flowers — all  of  which  made 
one  sad.  Little  Cacinella  had  thought 
that  everything  belonged  to  her  and  was 
especially  created  for  her.  Now  it  hurt 
her  to  discover  that  others  thought  that 
everything  had  been  made  especially  for 
them.  Something  was  wrong. 

Little  Cacinella  flew  further  and  she 
came  to  a  pool. 

"Now,  this  is  surely  mine,"  she  piped 
gaily.     "My   water.     I    am   so   happy. 
Here  are  also  grass  and  flowers." 
Then  she  met  other  cacinellas. 
"Hello,  sister,"  they  called. 


"Hello,  dears.  I'm  so  glad  I  met  you. 
It  was  getting  very  lonely  flying  about 
alone,  What  are  you  doing  here?" 

"We  are  playing,  sister.  Come  along 
with  us.  We  are  very  happy.  When  were 
you  born?" 

"Just  to-day.  A  drone  almost  stung  me 
to  death  and  I  also  met  a  caterpillar.  I 
thought  everything  belonged  to  me.  They 
said  everything  was  theirs." 

The  little  cacinellas  calmed  their  guest 
and  invited  her  to  play  with  them.  Then 
they  swarmed  in  a  thick  cloud  over  the 
pool,  playing  tag,  flying  and  squeaking. 

Our  little  Cacinella  was  almost  over- 
come with  joy  and  completely  forgot  the 
angry  drone  and  the  serious  caterpillar. 

"Oh  how  nice,"  she  gurgled  with  de- 
light. "It's  all  mine — the  sun,  the  grass, 
the  water.  I  cannot  understand  why  the 
others  were  so  angry.  It  is  all  mine,  but  I 


20 


don't  interfere  with  anybody's  life.  I  let 
them  fly  and  buzz  and  be  happy.  It 
doesn't  bother  me." 

Little  Cacinella  played  a  while  and 
then  sat  down  for  a  rest  among  some  reeds. 
Sitting  there,  little  Cacinella  watched  the 
other  cacinellas  playing,  when  suddenly  a 
sparrow  flashed  by,  no  one  knew  whence, 
and  dropped  like  a  stone  among  them. 

"Oh!  Oh!"  cried  the  little  cacinellas, 
scattering  in  all  directions. 

When  the  sparrow  flew  away,  many 
little  cacinellas  were  missing  from  the 
flock. 

"The  thief,"  scolded  the  older  cacinel- 
las. "He  ate  about  fifteen  or  more  of  us." 

"That's  worse  than  the  drone,"  thought 
little  Cacinella,  and  growing  frightened, 
she  hid  with  the  other  cacinellas  deeper 
among  the  reeds.  But  there  too,  they 


*' 


found  enemies,  Two  of  them  were  eaten 
by  a  small  fish  and  two  more  by  a  frog. 

"What's  all  this?"  wondered  little  Caci- 
nella.  "This  is  not  a  bit  nice.  It  is  almost 
impossible  to  live.  They  are  perfectly 
horrid !"" 

It  was  a  good  thing  that  there  were 
many  little  cacinellas.  Those  that  disap- 
peared were  hardly  missed;  many  new 
ones  were  always  coming,  flying  about 
and  squeaking,  "It's  all  ours!  It's  all 
ours!" 

"No,  it's  not,"--called  our  little  Cacinella 
to  them.  "There  are,  besides  us,  angry 
drones,  serious  caterpillars,  horrid  spar- 
rows, fishes  and  frogs.  Take  care,  sisters ! 
Take  care !" 

When  night  came,  all  the  little  caci- 
nellas hid  in  the  rushes.  Stars  sprinkled 
the  sky.  The  moon  rose  and  reflected 
everything  in  the  water. 


"My  moon,  my  stars,"  thought  little 
Cacinella;  but  she  did  not  dare  to  say  it 
aloud.  Some  one  might  take  them  away 
from  her. 

Ill 

UMMER  passed  quickly  for 
little  Cacinella.  There  was  so 
much  to  make  her  happy,  but 
there  were  sad  times,  too.  Twice 
she  was  almost  swallowed  by  a 
swift  marten.  Once  a  frog  crept  up  to  her 
unawares  and  nearly  gobbled  her  up.  A 
little  cacinella  has  many  enemies,  you 
know. 

Our  little  Cacinella  had  her  own  joys. 
One  day,  she  met  another  little  Cacinella 
with  long  hairy  moustache,  who  said : 

"You  are  so  pretty,  little  Cacinella.  Let 
us  be  friends  and  live  together." 
And  they  did.     And  they  were  very 


happy.  They  were  always  together; 
wherever  one  went,  the  other  followed. 

Summer  passed  before  they  were  aware 
of  it. 

Rainy  days  came;  nights  grew  cold. 
Our  little  Cacinella  laid  many  eggs.  She 
hid  them  in  the  thick  grass,  murmuring, 
"How  tired  I  am." 

No  one  saw  how  or  when  little  Caci- 
nella died.  She  may  not  have  died  at  all. 
She  may  have  only  fallen  asleep  quietly 
for  the  winter,  to  wake  up  in  the  spring 
and  be  happy  once  more. 


THE  STORY  OF  MOSQUITO  LONG-NOSE 
AND  FUZZY  BEAR,  MISHKA  SHORT-TAIL 

I 

happened  at  noon,  when  all  the 
mosquitoes  hid  in  the  marsh  to 
escape  the  heat. 

Mr.  Long-Nose  settled  under  a 
leaf  and  fell  asleep.    His  sleep  was 
disturbed  by  a  despairing  shout. 


"Wow!   Wow!    Help!    Help!" 

Mosquito  Long-Nose  jumped  out  from 
under  the  leaf  and  called : 

"What  happened?  Why  are  you 
screaming?" 

A  whole  swarm  of  mosquitoes  flew 
about,  buzzed  and  shrieked — apparently 
for  no  reason  at  all. 

"Oh,  my!  Just  think  what  happened! 
A  bear  came  into  our  marsh,  stretched 
himself  out  full  length  and  fell  asleep. 
And  as  he  lay  down,  he  crushed  five  hun- 
dred of  us;  and  as  he  opened  his  mouth, 
he  swallowed  a  hundred  of  us.  Some 
trouble,  brothers.  We  hardly  escaped  be- 
ing crushed  to  death  ourselves." 

Mosquito  Long-Nose  grew  furiously 
angry — angry  at  the  bear  and  at  the 
foolish  mosquitoes,  who  were  shouting  to 
no  purpose. 

"Stop   your    squealing!"    shouted   he. 


1  'It's  all  very  simple.  I  will  go  and  chase 
the  bear  away.  Your  noise  is  foolish." 

Mosquito  Long-Nose  grew  even  more 
angry  and  flew  away.  He  reached  the 
marsh  and  there  lay  the  bear  in  the  very 
thickets  where  the  mosquitoes  had  lived 
from  the  beginning  of  time. 

The  Bear  lay  stretched  full  length, 
snoring  and  whistling  like  a  trumpeter. 

"The  beast!  Grabbed  the  place  that 
doesn't  belong  to  him  .  .  .  killed  off 
so  many  mosquitoes  .  .  .  and  now  he 
sleeps  so  soundly !  It's  outrageous !" 

"Hey,  Uncle,  what  are  you  doing?" 
shouted  Mosquito  Long-Nose  through 
the  forest.  He  shouted  so  loudly  that  he 
grew  afraid  of  himself.  Fuzzy  Mishka 
opened  one  eye  and  saw  nothing.  Then 
he  opened  the  other  eye  and  all  he  could 
see  was  a  mosquito  hovering  over  his  nose. 

"What  do  you  want,  Comrade?"  grum- 


bled  Mishka,  getting  angry,  and  justly  so. 
There  he  was  all  ready  for  a  nap  when 
along  comes  this  good-for-nothing  squeal- 
ing at  him  and  waking  him  up. 

"Hey,  Uncle,  get  away  1  Get  up  and  go 
away  in  a  friendly  fashion!"  advised 
Long-Nose. 

Mishka  opened  his  eyes,  looked  at  Mr. 
Impudence,  snorted  and  grew  furiously 
angry. 

"What  do  you  want,  you  good-for-noth- 
ing?" growled  Mishka. 

"Leave  our  quarters  or  I'll  eat  you  up, 
fur  coat  and  all." 

The  bear  was  very  much  amused.  He 
turned  over  on  the  other  side,  covered  his 
face  with  his  paw  and  fell  asleep,  snoring 
immediately. 


II 


>OSQUITO  LONG-NOSE  re- 

turned  to  the  flock,  shouting 
across   the   entire   marsh,   "I 
certainly   did    frighten   him! 
He  will  never  come  again." 
The  mosquitoes  wondered.    They  were 
perplexed  and  asked,  "But  what  about 
Mishka?   Where  is  he  now?" 

"I  don't  know,  brothers.  He  surely  got 
scared  when  I  told  him  I'd  eat  him  up,  if 
he  did  not  go  away.  You  know  I  don't 
like  to  jest,  so  I  just  said,  Til  eat  you  up,' 
I'm  afraid  he  perished  from  fear  while  I 
was  coming  back  here.  Well,  it's  his  own 
fault." 

The  mosquitoes  buzzed  loudly.  They 
were  discussing  how  to  deal  with  an  in- 
vading bear.  There  never  had  been  such 
a  noise  in  the  marsh  before.  They  buzzed 


29 


and  hissed  and  finally  decided  to  chase  the 
bear  away  from  their  domain. 

"Let  him  go  home  into  his  forest  and 
sleep  there.  The  marsh  is  ours.  Our 
fathers  and  our  grandfathers  lived  in  this 
very  marsh.  It  is  ours." 

One  sensible  old  mosquito  advised  them 
to  leave  the  bear  alone.  "Let  him  have  his 
sleep/'  said  she,  "when  he  wakes  up,  he 
will  leave  the  marsh  of  his  own  accord." 

But  the  rest  of  the  flock  just  flew  at  her. 
The  poor  old  thing  was  glad  to  get  away 
and  hide. 

"Come  on,  brothers!"  shouted  Mo- 
squito Long-Nose,  louder  than  the  rest. 
"We  will  show  him  who  we  are!" 

The  whole  flock  followed  Mosquito 
Long-Nose.  They  came  to  the  spot  where 
Mishka  was  lying  as  still  as  death. 

"Didn't    I    say   he   died   of    fright?" 


boasted  Mosquito  Long-Nose.  "It's  a 
pity !  He  was  a  fine,  strong  bear  I" 

"Brothers,  he  is  only  asleep,"  piped  a 
tiny  mosquito,  flying  close  to  Mishka's 
nose  and  being  almost  blown  to  pieces  by 
the  wind  from  the  bear's  nostrils. 

"The  shameless  rascal!"  squealed  the 
Mosquitoes  in  chorus.  "He  crushed  five 
hundred  of  us  *  .  .  swallowed  another 
hundred  .  .  .  and  now  he  sleeps  as  if 
nothing  had  happened." 

But  shaggy  Mishka  slept  soundly  as  if 
nothing  had  really  happened.  He  was 
whistling  through  his  nose. 

"He  is  pretending  to  be  asleep,"  said 
Mosquito  Long-Nose.  "I'll  show  him 
who  I  am.  Hey,  Uncle,  enough  of  this 
make-believe!" 

And  with  this,  Mosquito  Long-Nose 
flew  at  the  bear,  aimed  at  his  black  nose 
and  pierced  it  with  his  mosquito-sting. 


33 


Mishka  fairly  jumped,  grabbing  his  nose 
with  his  paw;  but  Mosquito  Long-Nose 
was  already  too  far  away. 

"Well,  Uncle,  you  did  not  seem  to  like 
that,"  squealed  Mosquito  Long-Nose. 
"Go  away  or  it  will  be  the  worse  for  you. 
I'm  not  alone.  With  me,  is  Grandfather, 
Mosquito  Longer-Nose,  and  my  younger 
brother,  Mosquito  Longest-Nose.  Better 
go  away,  Uncle." 

"I  will  not  go  away!"  shouted  the  bear, 
sitting  down  on  his  haunches.  "I'll  crush 
you  a)  1  to  death!" 

"Oh,  uncle,  you're  boasting  foolishly." 

Once  more,  Mosquito  Long-Nose  flew 
at  the  bear  and  this  time  he  aimed  at  his 
eye.  Mishka  groaned  with  pain,  and  slap- 
ped his  paw  over  his  face,  trying  to  catch 
the  mosquito.  Again  he  failed  and  he 
only  scratched  his  face  in  the  effort. 
Mosquito  Long-Nose  was  meanwhile 


buzzing  by  close  to  his  ear  and  threaten- 
ing Mishka,  "I'll  eat  you  up,  Uncle." 

Ill 

ISHKA  grew  angry  and 
angrier.  He  grabbed  a  birch 
tree  and  tore  it  up  by  the  roots, 
aiming  it  at  the  mosquitoes. 
He  waved  it  and  waved  it  un- 
til he  grew  very  tired,  but  he  did  not  suc- 
ceed in  killing  a  single  mosquito.  They 
just  swarmed  and  buzzed  a  little  beyond 
his  reach.  Then  Mishka  took  a  huge 
stone  and  hurled  it  at  the  Mosquitoes,  but 
all  in  vain. 

"Well,  Uncle,"  squealed  Mosquito 
Long-Nose,  "I'll  eat  you  up  after  all." 

The  battle  raged  between  Mishka  and 
the  mosquitoes.  There  was  much  noise; 
one  could  hear  the  bear's  growling  from 
afar. 


IV 

E  tore  up  many  trees,  he  dug 
up  many  stones.  He  always 
aimed  at  Mosquito  Long- 
Nose,  who  seemed  to  be  right 
over  his  ear.  But  the  bear's 
paw  always  missed  its  aim,  while  his  face 
was  scratched  and  bleeding  from  his  own 
claws. 

Finally,  Mishka  was  overpowered.  He 
sat  on  his  haunches  and  snorted  and 
thought  of  a  new  trick,  which  was  to  roll 
in  the  grass  and  crush  the  whole  mosquito 
kingdom.  Mishka  rolled  and  rolled  but 
nothing  happened.  He  only  grew  more 
tired.  Then  he  hid  his  face  in  the  moss, 
but  that  was  even  worse  because  the  mo- 
squitoes clung  to  his  bear  tail.  Mishka 
became  furious. 

"Just  wait,  I'll  show  you !"  he  howled  so 
loudly  that  he  could  be  heard  for  miles 


around.  "I'll  show  you  some  trick!  Aiy  I 
Aiy!  Aiy!" 

The  mosquitoes  flew  aside  and  waited  to 
see  what  would  happen.  Now  Mishka 
climbed  a  tree  like  an  acrobat,  sat  on  the 
thickest  bough  and  roared: 

"You  just  dare  to  come  near  to  me  and 
all  your  noses  will  be  broken!" 

The  mosquitoes  laughed  in  their  shrill 
voices  and  flew  at  the  bear,  full  force, 
squealing,  swarming  and  attacking  him. 
Mishka  beat  them  off  again  and  again. 
Without  intending,  he  swallowed  a  hun- 
dred of  them,  choking.  He  coughed  and 
the  bough  broke  under  the  strain.  Down 
fell  Mishka.  But  he  was  up  again,  patting 
his  bruised  sides  and  saying : 

"Who  is  the  winner?  You  see  how- 
skillful  I  am  at  jumping  from  trees." 

The  mosquitoes  laughed  in  their  thin, 
shrill  laughter.  And  Mosquito  Long- 


«»*. » to 


Nose  just  trumpeted,  "I'll  eat  you  up !  I'll 
eat  you  up !  I'll  eat  you  up !" 

Completely  exhausted,  Mishka  knew 
that  he  was  beaten,  but  he  was  ashamed  to 
leave  the  marsh.  He  sat  on  his  haunches, 
but  all  he  could  do  was  to  blink  his  eyes. 

He  was  saved  from  further  shame  by  a 
Wise  Frog.  She  came  hopping  along 
from  under  a  bush  and  seeing  Mishka  in 
such  difficulty,  she  said: 

"Why  do  you  bother  yourself  need- 
lessly, Master  Mishka?  Don't  waste  your 
time  with  these  nasty  little  mosquitoes. 
They  aren't  worth  it." 

"They  really  are  not,"  cried  the  bear 
joyfully.  "I  was  only  fooling  a  bit.  Just 
let  them  visit  my  lair,  then  I'll  .  .  .  I'll 
I'll  " 

•     •     *     JL   II      •      .      • 

In  a  flash,  Mishka  turned  and  ran  from 
the  marsh.  But  Mosquito  Long-Nose 
flew  right  after,  shouting : 


"Catch  him,  brothers!  Catch  him! 
Hold  him!" 

The  mosquitoes  gathered  in  meeting 
and  decided,  "It  isn't  worth  while.  Let 
him  go.  The  marsh  is  left.  It  did  not 
go  away." 


MMM 

VANKA'S  BIRTHDAY 

I 

EAT,  drum!  Rub-a-dub-dub! 
Blow,  trumpets !  Toot-a- 
toot-too ! 

This  is  Vanka's  birthday. 
Let's  have  music.    All  are 


28& 


- 


welcome.  Come,  let  us  gather.  Rub-a- 
dub-dub!  Toot-a-toot-too !  Vanka  is 
strutting  about  in  his  new  red  blouse,  ex- 
claiming: 

"Brothers,  you  are  welcome.  There  is 
plenty  to  eat.  The  soup  is  made  of  the 
freshest  shavings;  the  cutlets  of  the  very 
best  and  cleanest  sand;  doughnuts  of  dif- 
ferent-colored papers;  tea  of  the  finest 
boiling  water.  You  are  all  welcome. 
Music,  play!  Rub-a-dub-dub!  Rub-a- 
dub-dub!  Toot-a-toot-too!" 

The  room  was  crowded  with  visitors. 
The  first  to  arrive  was  the  bulging 
Wooden  Top. 

"Z-z-z !  Z-z-z !  Where  is  the  birthday 
child?  Z-z-z!  Z-z-z!  I  am  very  fond  of 
making  merry  in  good  company," 

The  next  to  arrive  were  two  Dolls ;  one, 
blue-eyed  Anya  with  a  slightly  damaged 
nose;  the  other,  black-eyed  Katya  with 


one  arm  missing.  Both  came  in  very  mod- 
estly and  sat  down  on  the  toy  couch. 

"Let  us  see  the  treat  Vanka  has  for  us," 
said  Anya,  "I  think  he  boasts  too  much. 
The  music  isn't  bad,  but  I  have  my  doubts 
about  the  treat." 

"Anya,  you  are  always  grumbling," 
said  Katya,  chidingly. 

"And  you  are  always  ready  to  argue," 
said  Anya. 

The  Dollies  had  a  little  argument  and 
were  just  about  to  quarrel,  when  a  much 
worn  Clown  hobbled  in  on  one  leg,  and 
made  peace. 

"Ladies,  patience!  Everything  will  be 
very  nice  and  we  will  have  a  good  time. 
Of  course,  I  have  only  one  leg,  but  Top 
isn't  any  better  off  than  I  am.  See  him 
spin  on  his  one  leg.  Hello,  old  Top !" 

"Z-z-z!   Z-z-z!    Hello!   Why  does  one 


42 


of  your  eyes  look  as  if  someone  had 
punched  you?" 

"Nonsense!  I  fell  off  the  couch. 
Worse  things  than  that  happen." 

"Oh,  I  know  that.  Spinning,  I  some- 
times strike  my  head  against  the  wall  full 
force." 

"It's  a  good  thing  your  head  is  empty," 
said  Clown. 

"All  the  same,  it  hurts.  Z-z-z !  Just  try 
it  and  you'll  find  out." 

Clown  only  clapped  his  brass  cymbals 
in  answer.  He  was  really  a  very  light- 
minded  fellow. 

Then  came  Petrooshka,  bringing  along 
with  him  a  crowd  of  visitors:  his  own 
wife,  Matryona  Ivanovna;  the  German 
doctor,  Carl  Ivanovitch ;  and  a  huge-nosed 
Gypsy,  riding  on  a  three-legged  horse. 

"Now,  Vanka,  receive  your  visitors!" 
said  Petrooshka  gaily,  tapping  his  own 


nose.  "They're  all  fine.  Look  at  my  own 
wife,  Matryona  Ivanovna!  Isn't  she 
splendid?  She  is  as  fond  of  tea  as  a  duck 
is  of  water." 

"We  will  find  some  tea  for  her,  Master 
Petrooshka,  and  we  are  always  glad  to  see 
good  company,"  said  Vanka.  "Please  sit 
down,  Matryona  Ivanovna.  Carl  Ivano- 
vitch,  pray  be  seated." 

Then  came  Mr.  Bear  with  Mr.  Rabbit, 
Gray  Billy  Goat  and  Waddling  Duckling, 
Mr.  Rooster  and  Mr.  Wolf.  There  was 
plenty  of  room  for  everyone. 

The  last  to  arrive  was  Verotchka's  Slip- 
per with  Verotchka's  Broom.  They 
looked  around  and  found  all  seats  oc- 
cupied. 

"Never  mind.  I'll  stand  in  the  corner," 
said  Broom. 

Slipper  said  nothing,  but  crept  silently 
under  the  couch.  She  was  a  venerable  old 


Slipper,  very  much  worn.  She  was 
slightly  embarrassed  by  the  tiny  hole  near 
her  toe,  but  she  hoped  that  under  the 
couch  no  one  would  notice  that. 

"Music,  start!"  ordered  Vanka.  "Drum, 
beat!  Rub-a-dub-dub!  Trumpets  toot! 
Toot-a-toot-too ! 

Immediately  the  guests  became  merry 
and  gay. 

II 

T  the  beginning,  the  party  was 
splendid.  Drum  did  his  own 
beating,  and  Trumpet  his  own 
tooting.  Top  buzzed,  Clown 
beat  his  cymbals  and  Pe- 
trooshka  squealed  with  all  his  might.  It 
was  merry  and  gay. 

"Friends,   be  happy!"   called  Vanka, 
smoothing  his  flaxen  curls. 
Anya  and  Katya  laughed  in  their  shrill 


4S 


voices,  clumsy  Bear  danced  with  little 
Broom,  Gray  Billy  Goat  strutted  about 
with  Waddling  Duck,  Clown  tumbled 
about,  showing  off  his  tricks,  and  Dr.  Carl 
Ivanovitch,  chatting  with  Matryona 
Ivanovna,  asked: 

"Does  your  stomach  ache,  Matryona 
Ivanovna?" 

"Why,  no,  Carl  Ivanovitch,"  replied 
Matryona  Ivanovna,  offended.  "What 
makes  you  think  that?" 

"Just  show  me  your  tongue,"  insisted 
the  Doctor. 

"Leave  me  alone,  please." 

"I'm  here,"  rang  the  thin  voice  of  Silver 
Spoon,  with  which  Verotchka  ate  her 
cereal.  She  had  been  lying  quietly  on  the 
table  until  the  Doctor  spoke  of  showing  a 
tongue.  Then  she  jumped  up,  for  she 
knew  that  the  Doctor  always  needed  her 


help  when  he  looked  at  Verotchka's 
tongue. 

"Oh,  no!  Not  that!"  piped  Matryona 
Ivanovna,  waving  her  arms  comically,  as 
if  she  were  a  windmill. 

"Very  well.  I  will  not  burden  you  with 
my  services,"  said  little  Spoon,  very 
much  offended.  She  was  growing  angry, 
when  little  Top  came  spinning  up  to  her 
and  invited  her  to  dance.  Top  hummed. 
Little  Spoon  rang. 

Little  Slipper  could  resist  no  longer. 
She  crept  out  from  under  the  couch  and 
whispered  to  little  Broom : 

"I  love  you  very  much,  little  Broom." 

Little  Broom  closed  her  eyes  softly  and 
sighed:  she  loved  to  be  loved.  She  was 
such  a  modest  little  Broom,  never  boasting 
as  others  do, — for  instance,  Matryona 
Ivanovna,  Anya,  and  Katya.  These  doll- 


ies  always  liked  to  make  fun  of  other 
people's  failings,  saying : 

"Clown  has  but  one  leg.  Petrooshka's 
nose  is  too  long.  Carl  Ivanovitch  is  bald. 
Gypsy  is  like  a  firebrand." 

But  Vanka,  the  birthday  child,  was  criti- 
cized most  of  all. 

"He  is  too  much  of  a  moujik,"  Katya 
said. 

"And  he  boasts  too  much,"  added 
Anya. 

After  dancing  and  making  merry,  they 
all  sat  down  at  the  table  and  the  real  feast 
began.  The  dinner  passed  as  a  real  birth- 
day dinner  should ;  not  without  a  few  mis- 
haps, however.  Bear  almost  ate  Rabbit, 
mistaking  him  for  the  cutlet.  Top  nearly 
came  to  blows  with  Gypsy  about  little 
Spoon.  You  see,  Gypsy  wanted  to  steal 
little  Spoon  and  he  tried  to  put  her  into 
his  pocket.  Petrooshka,  a  well-known 


squabbler,  quarrelled  with  his  wife  over 
nothing  at  all. 

"Matryona  Ivanovna,  be  calm,"  urged 
Carl  Ivanovitch. 

"Petrooshka  is  really  kind.  Perhaps  your 
head  aches.  I  have  wonderful  powders 
for  headaches." 

"Doctor,  do  leave  her  alone,"  said  Pet- 
rooshka. "She  is  an  impossible  woman.  I 
love  her  very  much.  Come  Matryona 
Ivanovna,  let  us  kiss  and  be  friends." 

"Hurrah!"  shouted  Vanka.  "That's 
much  better  than  quarreling.  I  hate  to  see 
people  quarrel.  Just  look  .  .  ." 

Then  something  quite  unexpected  hap- 
pened, something  so  horrible,  it's  dreadful 
to  relate. 

Drum  beat — rub-a-dub-dub!  Trumpets 
blew — toot-a-toot-too.  Clown  clanged  his 
cymbals.  Little  Spoon  laughed  in  her  sil- 
ver voice.  Top  hummed.  Rabbit  shouted 


49 


merrily,  "Bo!  Bo!  Bo!"  Porcelain  Dog 
barked  loudly.  Rubber  Cat  meowed  gen- 
tly. Bear  stamped  his  feet  with  such  force 
that  the  floor  §hook.  Gayest  of  all  was 
Gray  Billy  Goat.  He  was  the  best  dancer. 
And  he  shook  his  beard  so  comically  and 
bleated  "Baa!  Baa!  Baa!"  in  his  cracked 
voice. 

Ill 

|OW  did  it  all  happen?  That 
is  hard  to  tell  because  of  all 
the  guests  only  Verotch- 
ka's  Slipper  remembered  just 
what  had  transpired.  She 
was  the  only  sensible  one.  She  crept  away 
under  the  couch  just  in  time. 

This  is  how  it  all  happened..  First  the 
^Wooden  Blocks  went  up  to  Vanka  to  con- 
gratulate him.  No — No — NO.  That 
isn't  how  it  started.  The  Blocks  really  did 


go  up  to  Vanka,  but  the  real  cause  of  the 
trouble  was  Katya.  Yes,  it  was  all  her 
fault.  This  pretty  little  rascal,  towards  the 
very  end  of  the  dinner,  whispered  to 
Anya: 

"Anya,  who  do  you  think  is  the  prettiest 
of  all  here?" 

It  was  quite  a  simple  question  to  ask,  but 
Matryona  Ivanovna,  overhearing  it,  grew 
frightfully  offended  and  asked  Katya : 

"Do  you  think  my  Petrooshka  is  ugly?" 

"Nobody  thinks  that,"  answered  Katya, 
trying  to  defend  herself.  But  it  was  too 
late. 

"Of  course,  his  nose  is  too  big,"  con- 
tinued Matryona  Ivanovna,  "but  that  is 
hardly  noticeable,  if  you  look  at  him  side- 
ways. I  know  he  has  a  bad  habit  of  squeal- 
ing and  squabbling  with  people  but  he 
is  really  very  kind.  And  as  for 
brains  ,  ." 


She  was  unable  to  finish  because  the 
Dolls  began  to  argue  with  so  much  heat 
that  they  attracted  everybody's  attention. 
The  first  to  interfere  was,  of  course,  Pet- 
rooshka  himself. 

"It's  true,  Matryona  Ivanovna,"  said  he, 
"I  am  the  handsomest  here." 

Then  the  men  were  all  offended. 

"Just  listen  to  this  conceited  Pet- 
rooshka !"  said  they.  "It's  disgusting !" 

Clown  was  not  much  of  a  talker,  so  he 
was  silently  offended.  But  Dr.  Carl 
I vanovitch  almost  shouted : 

"Does  that  mean  that  the  rest  of  us  are 
monsters?  Gentlemen,  I  congratulate 
you!" 

There  was  great  noise  and  confusion. 
Gypsy  shouted  something  in  his  own  lan- 
guage. Bear  growled.  Wolf  howled. 
Gray  Billy  Goat  bawled.  Top  hummed. 
They  all  shouted  their  offense. 


"Gentlemen,  stop!**  pleaded  Vanka. 
"Please  pay  no  attention  to  Petrooshka.  I 
am  sure  he  was  only  jesting." 

It  was  all  in  vain.  Carl  Ivanovitch  was 
noisier  and  more  excited  than  the  rest.  He 
even  pounded  his  fist  on  the  table  and 
shouted: 

"Gentlemen,  this  is  a  fine  treat,  I  must 
say !  We  were  invited  here  only  to  be  told 
that  we  are  monsters !" 

"Ladies  and  gentlemen!"  shouted 
Vanka,  trying  in  vain  to  be  heard.  "If 
monsters  are  under  discussion,  there  is  but 
one  monster  here.  It  is  I !  Now  are  you 
satisfied?" 

Then,  let  us  see  what  happened 
next.  .  .  . 

Carl  Ivanovitch  completely  lost  control 
and  flew  at  Petrooshka,  with  a  threatening 
fist. 

"If  I  were  not  an  educated  man,  know- 


ing  how  to  behave  properly  in  decent 
society,  I  would  say  to  you,  *  Master  Pet- 
rooshka,  you  are  quite  a  fool/  3 

Knowing  Petrooshka's  squabbling  dis- 
position, Vanka  tried  to  get  between  him 
and  the  Doctor,  but  on  his  way,  his  fist 
caught  Petrooshka's  long  nose.  Pet- 
rooshka  thought  that  it  was  not  Vanka, 
but  the  doctor  who  had  struck  him.  And 
that's  how  it  all  began. 

Petrooshka  clutched  at  the  doctor. 
Gypsy,  seated  at  one  side,  began  without 
any  provocation  to  pummel  Clown.  Bear 
threw  himself  with  a  growl  upon  Wolf. 
Top  hit  Billy  Goat  with  his  empty  head. 
In  a  word,  there  was  a  row.  Dolls 
squealed  in  their  shrill  voices  and  all  three 
fainted  with  fright. 

"I'm  fainting,"  screamed  Matryona 
Ivanovna,  falling  off  the  couch. 

"Gentlemen!      What    does    all    this1 


mean?"  pleaded  Vanka.  "Gentlemen! 
Is  this  not  my  birthday?  Gentlemen! 
This  is  rude!" 

It  was  a  real  fight.  The  confusion  was 
so  great  that  it  was  impossible  to  tell  who 
was  beating  whom.  Vanka  tried  to  sepa- 
rate the  fighters,  but  it  ended  in  his  beating 
anybody  and  everybody  who  came  within 
his  arm's  reach.  And  as  he  was  the 
strongest,  his  guests  came  off  pretty  badly. 

"Help!  Help!  Heavens'  help !"  cried 
Petrooshka,  loudest  of  all,  trying  to  strike 
the  Doctor. 

"They  are  murdering  Petrooshka! 
Help!  Help!" 

Slipper  was  the  only  one  who  escaped 
the  fight.  She  crept  under  the  couch  just 
in  time.  She  closed  her  eyes  in  fear.  Rab- 
bit, seeking  safety,  hid  inside  Slipper. 

"Where  are  you  going?"  grumbled 
Slipper. 


57 


"Keep  still!  They  might  hear  us  and 
then  both  of  us  would  get  it,"  pleaded 
little  Rabbit,  peeping  through  the  tiny 
hole  in  Slipper's  toe.  "What  a  rascal  that 
Petrooshka  is!  He  beats  everyone  and 
shouts  loudest  of  all.  He's  a  fine  guest,  I 
must  say!  You  know  I  hardly  got  away 
from  Wolf.  My !  it's  horror,  just  to  think 
of  it!  Just  see  Duckling  with  her  tiny 
legs  up.  Poor  thing !  She  must  be  dead." 

"How  foolish  you  are,  little  Rabbit," 
said  Slipper.  "All  the  dolls  have  fainted 
and  so  has  Duckling." 

They  fought  and  fought  and  fought 
until  Vanka  drove  away  all  the  guests  ex- 
cept the  Dolls. 

Matryona  Ivanovna,  tired  of  lying  in  a 
faint,  opened  one  eye  and  asked: 

"Where  am  I?  Doctor,  will  you  see  if 
I  am  still  alive?" 

No  one  answered  her  and  Matryona 


Ivanovna  opened  her  other  eye.  The 
room  was  empty  except  for  Vanka,  who 
stood  in  the  center  looking  around,  much 
astonished.  Anya  and  Katya  also  revived 
and  they,  too,  were  amazed.  Something 
horrible  must  have  happened. 

"You're  a  fine  birthday  child,  I  must 
say!"  simultaneously  exclaimed  the  Dolls, 
addressing  Vanka,  who  did  not  know 
what  to  answer. 

Someone  hit  him;  he  hit  someone. 
Why?  Wherefore?  He  did  not  know. 

"I  really  do  not  know  how  it  all  hap- 
pened," said  Vanka.  "The  thing  that 
hurts  most  is  that  I  love  them  all.  All 
without  exception." 

"We  know  how  it  all  happened,"  called 
Slipper  and  Rabbit  from  under  the  couch. 
"We  saw  it  all." 

"It  is  all  your  fault,"  said  Matryona 
Ivanovna,  accusing  little  Slipper  and 


Rabbit.  "Of  course,  it  is  you  who  are  to 
blame.  You  started  the  row  and  then  you 
ran  away  and  hid." 

"They're  to  blame !  They're  to  blame !" 
screamed  Anya  and  Katya  in  chorus. 

"Now  I  see  it  all,"  cried  Vanka,  joy- 
fully. "Get  out,  you  rascals!  YOU  only 
visit  people  to  start  quarrels." 

Slipper  and  Rabbit  were  barely  able  to 
make  their  escape  through  the  window. 

"I'll  teach  you  a  lesson,"  threatened 
Matryona  Ivanovna,  following  in  their 
wake.  "There  are  some  nasty  people  in 
this  world!  Even  little  Duckling  will 
agree  with  me." 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  little  Duckling.  "I 
saw  them  hide  under  the  couch."  Duck- 
ling always  agreed  with  everybody. 

"Let  the  guests  return,"  said  Katya. 
"We  can  still  have  a  jolly  time." 

The  guests  were  all  glad  to  come  back. 


Some  had  black  eyes ;  some  limped.  Pet- 
rooshka's  long  nose  had  the  worst  of  it. 

"The  rascals!"  all  repeated  in  chorus, 
blaming  Rabbit  and  Slipper  for  every- 
thing. "JVho  would  have  thought  it  of 
them!" 

"Oh,  I  am  so  tired!  My  hands  are  all 
sore,"  complained  Vanka.  "But  let  us 
forget  it  and  bear  no  grudge.  Let's  have 
music." 

Once  more,  drum  beat — rub-a-dub- 
dub  !  Trumpets  blew — toot-a-toot-too ! 
And  Petrooshka  shouted  with  all  his 
might : 

"Hurrah  for  Vanka!" 


61 


THE     STORY     OF     MASTER     SPARROW, 
MASTER  STICKELBACK  AND  THE 
JOLLY  CHIMNEY-SWEEP,  YASHA 

I 

ASTER  SPARROW  and  Mas- 
ter Stickelback  were  great 
friends.  In  summer,  Master 
Sparrow  came  daily  to  the 
river,  calling: 


"Hello,  brother !    How  are  you?" 

"Pretty  well.  Managing  to  keep  alive," 
answered  Stickelback.  "Come  to  visit  me. 
The  deep  pools  are  fine.  The  water  is 
quiet.  And  it's  just  full  of  water  grass.  I 
will  treat  you  to  frogs'  eggs,  worms  and 
water  bugs." 

"Thank  you,  brother,  I  would  come 
with  pleasure,  only  I  am  afraid  of  the 
water,"  said  the  Sparrow.  "You  better 
visit  me  on  my  roof.  I'll  treat  you  to 
berries — I  have  a  whole  garden  full — and 
we  will  rummage  for  some  bread  crusts, 
some  oats,  a  bit  of  sugar  and  live  mos- 
quitoes. You  like  sugar,  don't  you?" 

"What  does  it  look  like?"  asked  Stickel- 
back. 

"It  is  white." 

"Like  the  pebbles  in  my  river?" 

"Exactly.  But  when  you  take  it  into 
your  mouth  it's  sweet.  One  can't  eat 


pebbles,  you  know.  Come,  let  us  fly  to 
my  roof." 

"No,  I  can't  fly.  And  I  suffocate  in  the 
open  air,"  said  the  Fish.  "Let  us  have  a 
swim  together  in  my  river.  That's  much 
better.  I  will  show  you  all  sorts  of 
things." 

Master  Sparrow  tried  to  get  into  the 
water.  He  jumped  in  up  to  his  knees; 
then  fear  seized  him — fear  of  drowning. 
Heretofore,  all  that  the  Sparrow  had  ever 
done  was  to  get  a  drink  of  clear  river  water 
and  to  take  a  bath  in  the  shallowest  part  on 
a  hot  day.  Then  he  would  shake  his  fea- 
thers out  and  return  to  his  roof. 

Nevertheless,  the  two  were  great 
friends.  They  liked  chatting  together 
about  all  sorts  of  things. 

"Don't  you  ever  get  tired  of  staying  in 
the  water,"  Sparrow  would  say,  wonder- 

64 


ing.  "It  is  so  wet.  Aren't  you  afraid  of 
taking  cold?" 

Master  Stickelback  in  his  turn  would 
wonder  at  Master  Sparrow: 

"Don't  you  ever  get  tired  of  flying? 
Isn't  it  too  warm  to  be  out  in  the  sun?  It 
would  just  suffocate  me.  It  is  always  cool 
where  I  live.  I  swim  as  I  like.  When 
summer  comes,  my  river  is  crowded  with 
bathers.  But  who  ever  visits  your  roof?" 

"Oh,  I  have  plenty  of  visitors.  I  have 
one  great  chum,  the  Chimney-Sweep, 
Yasha.  He  often  visits  me.  He  is  such  a 
jolly  Chimney-Sweep,  always  singing. 
He  cleans  the  chimneys,  singing  away. 
When  he  rests,  he  sits  on  the  very  edge  of 
the  roof,  eats  his  piece  of  bread  for  lunch, 
while  I  pick  up  the  crumbs.  We  are  great 
friends.  I  also  like  to  be  jolly  sometimes." 

The  Sparrow  and  the  Fish  had  many 
troubles  in  common.  Winter  was  very 


hard  on  both.  Poor  Master  Sparrow  al- 
most froze  to  death.  The  days  were  so 
bitter  cold.  His  very  soul  seemed  to 
freeze  within  him.  He  would  puff  him- 
self up,  tuck  his  legs  underneath  him  and 
sit  on  his  roof,  waiting  for  the  sunshine. 
There  was  only  one  other  warm  place  for 
him  and  that  was  the  chimney,  but  even 
here  it  was  hardly  safe. 

Once,  Master  Sparrow  almost  perished. 
It  was  the  fault  of  his  best  friend,  the 
Chimney-Sweep.  One  day,  Yasha  came 
to  clean  the  chimney.  His  brush,  with  the 
weight  attached,  came  down  the  chimney 
and  almost  smashed  Master  Sparrow's 
head.  Covered  with  soot,  Master  Spar- 
row escaped  from  the  chimney.  He  was 
even  blacker  than  Yasha. 

"I  say!  What  do  you  mean,  Yasha? 
You  almost  killed  me,"  scolded  Master 
Sparrow. 


* 


"How  was  I  to  know  you  were  sitting  in 
the  chimney?"  asked  Yasha. 

"You  must  be  more  careful,"  said 
Master  Sparrow.  "It  isn't  very  nice  to  be 
hit  by  such  a  heavy  weight.  I  am  sure  you 
wouldn't  like  it." 

In  winter,  Stickelback's  life  was  not 
very  pleasant.  He  crawled  somewhere 
deep,  deep  into  the  river  and  dozed  there 
for  days.  It  was  dark  and  cold  and  he  had 
no  desire  to  move.  Occasionally  he  came 
up  to  the  ice-hole  to  chat  with  his  friend. 

When  Master  Sparrow  came  to  the  ice- 
hole  for  a  drink,  he  would  call,  "Hey, 
Master  Stickelback !  Are  you  still  alive?" 

"I  am,"  Master  Stickelback  would  an- 
swer sleepily.  "But  I  want  to  stay  asleep 
all  the  time.  It  isn't  very  nice  here. 
Everybody  is  asleep." 

"It  isn't  much  better  where  I  live,"  said 
Sparrow.  "But  we  must  be  patient.  At 


times  the  wind  is  very  cruel.  There  is  no 
sleep  then.  I  hop  along  on  one  leg  to  keep 
warm,  while  people  watching  me  say, 
'What  a  gay  little  sparrow  P  If  pnly  warm 
days  would  come!  Brother,  I  believe  you 
are  asleep  again." 

Summer  brought  with  it  its  own 
troubles.  Once  a  hawk  chased  Master 
Sparrow  for  two  miles.  Sparrow  barely 
escaped  by  hiding  in  the  sedge  near  the 
river. 

"My!  I  am  glad  to  get  off  alive,"  com- 
plained Master  Sparrow  to  Master  Stickel- 
back,  scarcely  able  to  catch  his  breath. 
"That  rascal  almost  caught  me  then." 

"He  must  be  something  like  our  pike," 
said  Stickelback,  consolingly.  "Not  long 
ago  I,  too,  barely  escaped  the  pike's  fangs. 
That  pike  was  as  quick  as  lightning.  One 
day,  as  I  was  swimming  out  with  some 
friends,  I  mistook  him  for  a  log,  he  lay  so 


still,  and  he  chased  me.  Will  you  tell  me 
why  there  are  pikes  in  the  world?  I  have 
often  wondered,  but  I  cannot  under- 
stand." 

"Neither  can  I,"  said  Master  Sparrow. 
"Do  you  know,  I  sometimes  think  that  a 
hawk  must  at  one  time  have  been  a  pike 
and  a  pike  must  have  been  a  hawk.  Any- 
way, both  are  rascals/' 

II 

HUS  lived  Master  Sparrow 
and  Master  Stickelback,  freez- 
ing in  winter,  joyous  in  sum- 
mer; while  jolly  Chimney- 
Sweep,  Yasha,  cleaned  his 
chimneys  and  sang  his  songs.  Each  had 
his  work,  his  joys  and  his  troubles. 

One  summer  day  the  Chimney-Sweep 
walked  down  to  the  river  to  wash.  He 
walked  along,  whistling,  when  suddenly 


he  heard  a  terrific  noise.  What  had  hap- 
pened? 

Whirling  above  the  river  was  a  crowd 
of  birds,  ducks,  geese,  swallows,  snipe, 
crows  and  pigeons,  shouting  with  laugh- 
ter, for  no  apparent  reason. 

"I  say!  What  has  happened?"  asked 
the  Chimney-Sweep. 

"This  is  what  happened,"  piped  a  bold 
Bluebird.  "It  is  too  funny  for  words. 
Just  see  what  Master  Sparrow  is  doing. 
He  seems  quite  mad." 

The  Bluebird  piped  in  her  thin,  high 
voice,  flicked  her  tail  and  soared  above  the 
river.  When  Chimney-Sweep  drew 
nearer,  Master  Sparrow  just  flew  at  him. 
He  was  frightful  to  behold.  His  beak 
was  open,  his  eyes  wild,  his  feathers  all 
ruffled. 

"Master    Sparrow,    what    is    all    this 


about?  Why  are  you  making  all  this 
noise?"  asked  the  Chimney-Sweep. 

"No!  I'll  teach  him  a  few  things!" 
shouted  Master  Sparrow,  fairly  choking 
with  rage.  "He  doesn't  yet  know  who  I 
am!  I'll  teach  that  confounded  Stickel- 
back !  He'll  have  cause  to  remember  me ! 
The  rascal!" 

"Don't  listen  to  him,"  shouted  Stickel- 
back  from  his  river.  "It's  all  lies." 

"Who  is  lying?"  shouted  Master  Spar- 
row. "Who  found  the  worm?  I'm  ly- 
ing? Indeed!  A  nice  fat  worm  that  I 
myself  dug  up  on  the  bank.  I  worked 
hard,  too.  I  finally  got  him  and  was  just 
about  ready  to  take  him  home  to  my  nest — 
I  have  a  family,  you  know,  that  has  to  be 
fed.  No  sooner  did  I  get  above  the  river, 
the  worm  in  my  mouth,  than  that  abomin- 
able Stickelback  (I  hope  the  pike  swal- 
lows him)  shouted,  'Hawk!  Hawk!'  I 


screamed  with  fright  and  the  worm  drop- 
ped out  of  my  mouth  into  the  water  and 
Master  Stickelback  swallowed  him.  I  call 
this  cheating.  There  was  no  hawk  in 
sight." 

"It  was  only  a  little  joke  of  mine,"  said 
Stickelback,  defending  himself.  "That 
worm  was  really  delicious." 

All  kinds  of  fish  were  gathered  about 
Stickelback,  minnows,  carp  and  perch, 
listening  and  laughing  at  the  story. 

"Yes,  that  was  a  fine  trick  Master 
Stickelback  played  on  his  old  friend.  But 
funnier  still  was  to  see  Master  Sparrow 
fighting  Master  Stickelback,  flying  at  him 
again  and  again  and  getting  nothing." 

"I  hope  my  worm  chokes  you !  I'll  dig 
up  another,"  shouted  Master  Sparrow. 
"What  hurts  me  most  is  that  Stickelback 
fooled  me  and  now  he  laughs  at  me.  I  was 
even  inviting  him  to  visit  me  on  my  roof. 


A  fine  friend  he  is,  I  must  say!  Here's 
our  Chimney-Sweep,  Yasha.  He  will 
agree  with  me,  I'm  sure.  He's  my  good 
friend.  At  times,  we  even  eat  together. 
Yasha  eats  his  bread  and  I  pick  up  the 
crumbs." 

"Wait,  brothers!  This  affair  needs  a 
judge,"  announced  Yasha.  "Just  let  me 
wash  myself  and  I  shall  deal  with  the 
whole  thing  fairly.  And  you,  Master 
Sparrow,  just  calm  yourself  a  bit." 

"I  know  I  am  right.  I  have  nothing  to 
worry  about,"  shouted  Master  Sparrow. 
"I  only  want  to  show  Stickelback  that  I 
shall  not  stand  for  his  jokes." 

Chimney-Sweep  Yasha  sat  down  on  the 
bank,  put  his  lunch  near  him,  washed  his 
face  and  hands,  and  said : 

"Now,  brothers,  let  us  get  at  the  bottom 
of  this  trouble.  You,  Master  Stickelback, 


are  a  fish.  And  you,  Master  Sparrow,  are 
a  bird.  Am  I  right?" 

"Yes,  yes,"  shouted  the  birds  and  fishes 
in  chorus. 

"Let  us  go  on,"  said  Yasha.  "A  fish  must 
live  in  water,  a  bird  in  the  air.  Am  I 
right?  Well  then,  a  worm  lives  in  the 
ground.  Very  well.  Now  let's  see." 

The  Chimney-Sweep  opened  his  lunch, 
a  piece  of  wheaten  bread,  and  laid  it  on  a 
stone,  saying: 

"Now  look!  What  is  this?  Bread, 
isn't  it?  I  earned  it  and  I  shall  eat  it.  And 
with  it,  I  shall  have  a  drink  of  water.  All 
this  means  that  I  have  earned  my  dinner 
without  harming  anyone.  A  fish  and  a 
bird  also  want  their  dinner.  Each  of  you 
has  his  own  food.  Why  quarrel?  Master 
Sparrow  dug  up  the  worm,  therefore  the 
worm  was  his.  He  earned  it." 

"Wait,  Uncle,"  piped  a  thin  voice  in 


the  crowd.  The  birds  moved  apart  to 
allow  a  little  snipe  to  come  forward. 
Standing  on  his  thin  little  legs  close  to  the 
Chimney-Sweep,  the  snipe  said! 

"It  isn't  true,  Uncle." 

"What  isn't  true?"  asked  Yasha. 

"About  the  worm,"  said  the  snipe.  "I 
found  it.  You  can  ask  the  ducks.  They 
saw  me.  I  found  the  worm  and  Master 
Sparrow  snatched  it  away  from  me." 

Chimney-Sweep  Yasha  was  puzzled. 
This  was  quite  a  different  story. 

"Let  me  see,"  he  murmured,  trying  to 
gather  his  thoughts  together.  "Hey, 
Master  Sparrow !  What  do  you  mean  by 
lying  to  me?" 

"I'm  not  lying.  The  snipe  is.  He  and 
the  ducks  made  that  story  up." 

"Well,  brothers,  something  is  wrong. 
Of  course,  a  worm  isn't  anything,  but  to 


» 


steal  it,  is  not  nice.  And  he  who  steals 
must  lie.  Am  I  not  right?" 

"Right !  You  are  right !"  shouted  all  in 
chorus.  "All  the  same,  you  have  to  be  the 
judge  between  Master  Stickelback  and 
Master  Sparrow." 

"Which  of  those  two  is  right?"  asked 
Yasha.  "Both  made  a  noise.  Both  fought 
and  stirred  up  everybody  else.  Who  is 
right?  Oh,  the  two  of  you,  Master  Stickel- 
back and  Master  Sparrow,  the  two  of  you 
are  rascals.  I  will  punish  both  of  you  as 
an  example.  Now,  both  of  you  make  up 
quickly." 

"That's  right,"  shouted  the  crowd  in 
chorus.  "Let  them  make  up." 

"As  for  the  snipe  who  worked  to  get  the 
worm,  I  will  feed  him  with  my  crust,"  de- 
cided the  Chimney-Sweep.  "Then  every- 
body will  be  satisfied." 

"Splendid!"  all  shouted  their  approval. 


The  Chimney-Sweep  made  a  move  to 
offer  his  crust  to  the  snipe,  but  the  crust 
had  disappeared.  While  Yasha  was  talk- 
ing, Master  Sparrow  grabbed  the  crust 
and  flew  away  with  it. 

"The  rascal !  The  scamp !"  shouted  the 
birds  and  the  fishes  indignantly,  starting 
in  pursuit  of  the  thief. 

The  crust  was  heavy  and  Master  Spar- 
row could  not  fly  far  with  it.  He  was 
caught  just  beyond  the  river.  Birds,  large 
and  small,  threw  themselves  upon  the 
thief.  It  was  a  real  battle.  They  were  all 
tearing  the  bread  to  bits  and  the  crumbs 
fell  into  the  river.  These  the  fishes  grab- 
bed. Then  followed  a  battle  between 
birds  and  fish.  The  crust  was  broken  into 
tiny  crumbs.  The  crumbs  were  eaten  up. 
When  it  was  all  over,  everybody  grew 
thoughtful.  They  felt  ashamed.  While 


79 


chasing  the  thief  to  recover  the  crust,  they 
had  grabbed  it  up  themselves. 

The  jolly  Chimney-Sweep,  Yasha,  sat 
on  the  bank,  watching  and  laughing.  The 
whole  affair  had  turned  out  to  be  so  funny. 
They  were  all  gone.  There  remained  only 
the  Sandy  Snipe. 

"Why  don't  you  fly  along  with  the 
others?"  asked  the  Chimney-Sweep. 

"I  would,  Uncle,  only  I  am  too  small. 
The  big  birds  might  peck  me  to  death." 

"Well,  maybe  you  are  right,  little  Snipe. 
Both  of  us  are  left  without  our  din- 
ner. Evidently,  we  haven't  worked  hard 
enough  for  it." 

Then  came  Verotchka  to  the  river  bank 
and  asked  the  jolly  Chimney-Sweep  what 
had  happened.  How  she  laughed  when 
she  heard  the  story ! 

"How  foolish  they  all  are,  the  fish  and 
the  birds,"  said  Verotchka.  "I  could 


so 


divide  everything  right,  and  no  one  would 
quarrel.  Not  long  ago  I  divided  four 
apples.  Father  brought  four  apples  and 
said,  *  Divide  these  between  you  and  Lisa 
and  me  evenly/  I  divided  them  into  three 
parts.  I  gave  one  apple  to  father,  one 
apple  to  Lisa,  and  I  took  two  apples  for 
myself." 


, 
8s 


MMM 

THE  STORY  OF  THE  LAST  FLY 
I 

UMMER-TIME  is  a  merry  time 
for  flies.  It  is  hard  to  tell  just 
how  it  all  happened.  There  were 
so  many  flies ;  thousands  of  them, 
gaily  flying  and  buzzing. 


When  Little  Fly  was  born,  she 
straightened  out  her  wings  and  imme- 
diately felt  happy, — so  happy  that  one 
really  cannot  tell  it  in  words.  It  was  all  so 
interesting.  The  doors  and  windows  lead- 
ing to  the  porch  were  thrown  wide  open  in 
the  morning,  and  Little  Fly  flitted  in  and 
out  as  she  pleased. 

"How  kind  human  beings  are!"  ex- 
claimed Little  Fly,  astonished,  flying  in 
and  out  of  the  windows.  "The  windows 
were  made  for  us,  and  they  are  open  for  us. 
It  is  so  nice  to  be  alive  and  feeling  so 
happy." 

She  flew  in  and  out  of  the  garden  many 
times.  Sitting  on  a  blade  of  grass,  she  ad- 
mired the  blooming  lilacs,  the  delicate 
leaves  of  the  budding  poplars,  and  the  dif- 
ferent flowers  in  their  beds.  The  gardener, 
still  unknown  to  her,  had  taken  care  of 
everything.  What  a  kind  gardener !  Lit- 


tie  Fly  was  not  born  yet  and  he  had  already 
prepared  everything  she  might  need.  It 
was  all  the  more  amazing  since  he  himself 
was  not  only  unable  to  fly,  but  he  even 
walked  about  with  great  difficulty,  tremb- 
ling all  over  at  times,  and  muttering  to 
himself. 

"I  wonder  where  these  nasty  flies  come 
from?"  grumbled  the  kind  gardener. 

The  poor  dear  probably  said  this  from 
sheer  envy  because  all  he  could  do  was  to 
dig  beds,  set  out  and  water  flowers.  He 
couldn't  fly.  Little  Fly  liked  to  buzz 
around  the  gardener's  red  nose,  which  an- 
noyed him  very  much. 

People  were  usually  very  kind,  provid- 
ing all  kinds  of  pleasures  for  flies.  For  in- 
stance, when  Verotchka  had  her  bread 
and  milk  in  the  morning,  she  always  asked 
Aunt  Olga  for  a  piece  of  sugar.  This  she 
did  just  to  give  Little  Fly  a  chance  to  have 


a  bit  of  sugar,  a  few  crumbs  of  bread,  and 
a  few  drops  of  milk. 

"Now  tell  me,  is  there  anything  more 
delicious  than  this  treat  after  working 
busily  all  morning?"  said  Little  Fly. 

Cook  Pascha  was  even  kinder  than 
Verotchka.  Every  morning  she  would  go 
to  market  and  bring  such  wonderful 
things,  especially  for  the  flies — meat,  fish, 
cream  and  butter.  Pascha  was  the  kindest 
woman  in  the  whole  house.  Though,  like 
the  gardener,  she  could  not  fly,  she  knew 
perfectly  well  every  need  of  a  fly.  She  was 
the  kindest  woman  in  all  the  world. 

And  Aunt  Olga — oh,  that  wonderful 
woman ! — seemed  to  live  only  for  the  flies. 
With  her  own  hands  she  would  open  all 
the  windows  every  morning,  so  that  the 
flies  might  come  and  go  at  will.  When  it 
rained,  or  it  was  cold,  she  closed  the  win- 
dows to  keep  their  little  wings  dry  and  pre- 


vent  them  from  catching  cold.  Then 
Aunt  Olga  noticed  that  flies  liked  sugar 
and  berries.  So  every  day  she  cooked  ber- 
ries and  sugar.  The  flies  knew  at  once 
why  she  did  this,  and  to  show  their  grati- 
tude, they  crawled  right  into  the  pans  of 
jam. 

Verotchka  was  also  very  fond  of  jam, 
but  Aunt  Olga  would  only  give  her  one  or 
two  teaspoonfuls,  because  she  did  not  wish 
to  deprive  the  flies  of  their  share.  As  the 
flies  could  not  eat  all  the  jam  at  once,  Aunt 
Olga  put  away  the  jam  in  jars  (to  keep  it 
away  from  mice  who  were  not  entitled  to 
jam)  ready  to  serve  to  the  flies  each  day  at 
tea  time. 

"Oh,  how  kind  and  good  everybody  is!" 
exclaimed  Little  Fly,  flitting  in  and  out  of 
the  window.  "It  is  even  good  that  people 
cannot  fly,  for  they  would  turn  into  big, 


greedy  flies,  grabbing  up  everything.  It's 
fine  to  live  in  this  world!" 

"But  people  aren't  at  all  as  kind  as  you 
think,"  remarked  an  old  fly  who  liked  to 
grumble  occasionally.  "It  only  seems  so 
to  you.  Have  you  ever  noticed  the  man 
they  call  Papa?" 

"Oh,  yes.  He  is  a  very  strange  gentle- 
man. You  are  perfectly  right,  good  old 
fly.  Why  does  he  smoke  that  pipe?  He 
knows  very  well  I  do  not  like  tobacco 
smoke.  It  seems  to  me  sometimes  that  he 
does  it  just  to  spite  me.  And  he  doesn't 
like  to  do  anything  for  flies.  You  know, 
once  I  tasted  that  ink  with  which  he  is  for- 
ever writing,  and  I  almost  died.  It  was 
awful.  I  once  saw  with  my  own  eyes  two 
pretty,  inexperienced  young  flies  drown  in 
his  ink.  It  was  a  dreadful  sight  to  see  how 
he  pulled  them  out  with  his  pen,  put  them 
on  his  paper,  making  a  splendid  blot. 


Just  think  of  it !  Then  he  blames  us  and 
not  himself.  Where  is  justice?" 

"I  think  this  Papa  has  no  sense  of  jus- 
tice, although  he  has  one  good  quality," 
answered  the  old,  experienced  fly.  "He 
drinks  beer  after  dinner.  That  isn't  at  all 
a  bad  habit.  To  tell  the  truth,  I  like  a  taste 
of  beer  myself,  though  it  does  make  me 
dizzy." 

"I  also  like  beer,"  confessed  Little  Fly, 
blushing  slightly.  "I  become  quite  gay 
after  having  some,  although  my  head 
aches  the  next  day,  Perhaps  Papa  does 
not  do  anything  for  flies  because  he  does 
not  care  for  jam  and  puts  all  of  his  sugar 
into  his  tea.  One  really  cannot  expect 
much  of  a  man  who  does  not  eat  jam. 
There  is  nothing  left  for  him  but  his  pipe." 

The  flies  knew  people  very  well,  al- 
though they  interpreted  them  in  their  own 
fashion. 


II 

HE  summer  was  hot.  Each 
day  brought  more  and  more 
flies.  They  fell  into  the  milk, 
crawled  into  the  soup  and 
into  the  ink-well,  they  buzzed 
and  they  whirled  and  annoyed  everyone. 
Our  Little  Fly  grew  up  into  a  big  fly.  On 
several  occasions  she  almost  perished. 
The  first  time  her  legs  stuck  in  jam  and 
she  was  just  able  to  free  herself.  The 
second  time  she  flew  sleepily  against  a 
burning  lamp  and  almost  scorched  her 
wings.  The  third  time  she  was  almost 
crushed  by  a  closing  window.  Oh  the 
whole,  she  had  many  adventures. 

"There  is  no  living  with  these  flies 
about,"  complained  Cook.  "They -act 
like  mad — crawling  into  everything? 
They  must  be  done  away  with." 


Even  our  Fly  decided  that  there  were  al- 
together too  many  flies,  especially  in  the 
kitchen.  At  night  the  ceiling  was  black 
with  them.  They  seemed  like  a  moving 
net.  When  the  provisions  were  brought, 
the  flies  threw  themselves  upon  them — a 
live  mass,  pushing,  jostling,  quarrelling. 
The  best  morsels  fell  to  the  lot  of  the  bold 
and  the  strong.  The  rest  had  the  remains. 

Pascha,  the  cook,  was  right.  There 
were  too  many  flies.  Then  something  hor- 
rible happened.  One  morning,  Pascha 
brought  along  with  the  provisions  a  pack- 
age of  very  tasty  papers — that  is,  she  made 
them  tasty,  when  she  spread  them  out  on 
plates,  by  moistening  them  with  warm 
water  and  sprinkling  sugar  over  them. 

"There  is  a  fine  treat  for  the  flies,"  said 
Pascha,  putting  the  plates  where  they 
could  be  seen.  Without  Pascha's  saying 
anything,  the  flies  knew  at  once  that  this 


n. 


was  a  special  treat  for  them.  Buzzing 
gaily,  they  threw  themselves  upon  the  new 
dainty.  Our  Fly  tried  to  get  into  a  plate, 
but  she  was  pushed  rudely  aside. 

"No  pushing,  please,"  said  she,  offended, 
"I'm  not  one  of  those  greedy  ones,  you 
know.  You  are  quite  rude." 

Then  something  quite  terrible  hap- 
pened. Thousands  of  flies  died.  The 
greediest  were  the  first  to  succumb.  They 
crawled  about  as  if  drunk  and  then  fell  to 
the  ground,  dead.  In  the  morning,  Pascha 
swept  up  a  large  plate  full  of  dead  flies. 
Only  the  most  sensible  ones  remained 
alive.  Among  these  was  our  Fly. 

"No  papers  for  us,"  buzzed  the  surviv- 
ing flies.  "We  don't  want  them." 

The  next  day  the  same  thing  happened. 
Of  all  the  sensible  flies  only  the  most  sen- 
sible remained  alive.  But  Pascha  still 


93 


complained,  "There  is  no  living  with  these 
flies  about." 

Then  the  gentleman  they  called  Papa 
brought  home  three  very  pretty  glass 
bowls  and  filled;  them  with  beer.  This 
time  even  the  niost  sensible  flies  were 
caught.  It  turned  out  that  these  bowls 
were  nothing  but  fly-catchers.  The  flies, 
attracted  by  the  smell  of  beer,  were  caught 
in  the  bowls  and  perished. 

"That's  good,"  said  Pascha  approv- 
ingly. She  had  turned  out  to  be  the  most 
heartless  of  women,  rejoicing  at  others' 
misfortunes. 

"There  isn't  anything  good  about  that," 
said  Little  Fly.  "If  people  had  wings  like 
flies  and  someone  were  to  set  a  fly-catcher 
as  big  as  a  house,  they,  too,  would  be 
caught." 

Our  Fly,  learning  from  the  bitter  ex- 
periences of  the  sensible  flies,  ceased  to 


94 


trust  people.  They  only  seem  kind,  these 
people;  while,  in  reality,  they  are  busy 
with  just  one  thing — to  cheat  poor  trust- 
ing flies.  To  tell  the  truth,  human  beings 
are  the  slyest  and  crudest  of  animals. 

Through  all  these  misfortunes  the  num- 
ber of  flies  decreased  considerably.  Then 
followed  another  calamity.  Suddenly 
summer  was  gone  Rains  began  to  fall. 
Cold  winds  blew.  The  weather  was  very 
disagreeable. 

"Is  summer  really  gone?"  asked  the  few 
remaining  flies.  "How  could  it  have 
passed  so  quickly.  It  doesn't  seem  quite 
fair.  We  have  hardly  had  time  to  live  and 
autumn  is  already  upon  us." 

This  was  worse  than  poison  paper  or 
glass  fly-catchers.  There  was  only  one 
escape  from  the  coming  bad  weather — to 
seek  shelter  with  one's  bitterest  enemy, 
Master  Man.  Alas,  now  the  windows 


95 


were  closed  all  day  long  and  only  the  ven- 
tilators were  occasionally  open!  The 
very  sun  seemed  to  shine  just  to  deceive 
the  trustful  house  flies. 

For  instance,  what  do  you  think  of  this 
picture?  It  is  morning.  The  sun  is  gaily 
peeping  into  all  the  windows  as  if  inviting 
the  flies  into  the  garden.  You  would 
think  summer  was  returning.  And  what 
happens?  The  trustful  flies  fly  through 
the  ventilator  into  the  garden.  True,  the 
sun  is  shining,  but  it  gives  no  heat.  They 
try  to  return  to  the  house  but  the  ventila- 
tor has  been  closed.  Thus  many  flies 
perished  in  the  cold  autumn  nights. 

"No,  I  no  longer  believe,"  said  our  Lit- 
tle Fly,  "I  have  no  faith  in  anything. 
Since  even  the  sun  deceives  me,  I  believe 
in  nothing." 

It  is  understood  that  with  the  coming  of 
the  fall  all  flies  experienced  the  same  un- 


happy  moods.  They  became  very  dis- 
agreeable. Not  a  sign  of  their  former 
gayety  remained.  They  became  gloomy, 
indolent  and  dissatisfied.  Some  of  them 
even  began  to  bite,  which  they  had  never 
been  known  to  do  before. 

Our  Fly's  disposition  became  so  bad  she 
didn't  know  herself.  She  had  always  been 
so  sorry  for  other  flies.  Now  when  they 
perished,  she  thought  only  of  herself.  She 
was  even  ashamed  to  speak  the  thoughts 
that  were  in  her  mind,  "Let  them  perish, 
then  there  will  be  more  left  for  me."  In 
the  first  place,  there  were  not  many  warm 
corners  where  a  decent  fly  could  spend  the 
winter.  In  the  second  place,  the  other  flies 
were  very  annoying,  always  in  the  way, 
snatching  from  under  her  nose  the  very 
best  tidbits,  and  behaving  badly  in  gen- 
eral. Besides,  it  was  time  for  them  to  rest. 

The  flies  seemed  to  understand  the  cruel 


97 


thoughts  of  our  Fly  and  they  fell  by  the 
hundreds.  They  didn't  seem  to  die — just 
to  fall  asleep.  With  each  day  their  num- 
ber grew  smaller  and  smaller.  There  was 
no  longer  any  need  of  poison  paper  or 
glass  fly-catchers.  But  all  this  was  not 
enough  to  satisfy  our  Fly.  She  wanted  to 
be  the  only  fly  left  in  the  world. 

Ill 

HERE  came  a  very  happy 
day.  One  morning  our  Fly 
woke  up  quite  late.  She  had 
felt  a  curious  weariness  for  a 
long  time  and  preferred  to  re- 
main immovable  in  her  corner  under  the 
stove.  And  now  she  felt  that  something 
unusual  was  going  to  happen.  She  flew 
to  the  window.  The  first  snow  had  fallen ! 
The  ground  was  covered  with  a  brilliant, 
white,  shining  sheet. 


"Oh,  this  must  be  winter  1"  Our  Fly 
knew  at  once.  "Winter  is  all  white,  like  a 
piece  of  sugar." 

Then  our  Fly  noticed  that  all  the  other 
flies  had  disappeared.  The  poor  things 
could  not  survive  the  first  frost  and  drop- 
ped off  to  sleep  wherever  they  happened  to 
be.  In  former  days,  our  Fly  would  have 
felt  very  sorry  for  them.  But  now  she 
thought,  "This  is  splendid.  Now  I  am 
really  the  only  one.  No  one  will  eat  my 
jam,  my  sugar,  my  crumbs.  This  is  fine." 

She  flew  through  all  the  rooms  to  con- 
vince herself  that  she  was  the  only  fly  left. 
Now  she  could  do  anything  she  pleased. 
It  was  so  nice.  The  house  was  so  warm. 
Winter  was  there,  out  of  doors ;  but  inside 
the  house  it  was  bright,  warm,  and  cozy, 
especially  in  the  evening  when  the  candles 
and  lamps  were  lighted.  A  slight  misfor- 
tune occurred  when  the  first  lamp  was 


99 


lighted.  Our  Fly  once  more  flew  against 
it  and  was  almost  scorched  to  death. 

"This  must  be  the  winter  fly-trap,"  said 
our  Fly,  rubbing  her  burnt  legs.  "Now 
you  can't  fool  me.  I  know  too  much.  You 
wish  to  burn  the  Last  Fly,  do  you?  Well, 
that's  the  last  thing  that  I  want.  There  is 
also  a  hot  stove  in  the  kitchen.  Don't  I 
know  that,  too,  is  a  fly-catcher?" 

The  Last  Fly  was  happy  for  a  few  days 
only.  Then  suddenly  she  felt  lonely,  so 
lonely,  so  very  lonely.  Of  course,  she  was 
warm  and  there  was  plenty  to  eat,  but  still- 
she  was  unhappy.  She  flew  and  rested  and 
ate.  She  flew  again,  but  she  felt  lonelier 
than  ever. 

"Oh,  how  lonely  I  am!"  she  buzzed  in 
a  thin,  pitiful  voice,  flying  from  one  room 
to  the  other.  "If  there  were  only  one  other 
fly  here !  The  meanest,  the  worst  of  them, 
but  only  one  fly!" 


100 


No  one  seemed  to  understand  the  com- 
plaints of  the  Last  Fly  and  this  of  course 
made  her  cross.  She  flew  about  like  one 
mad,  alighting  on  this  one's  nose,  on  that 
one's  ear,  or  back  and  forth  in  front  of 
people's  eyes. 

"Heavens,  can't  you  understand?  I  am 
quite  alone  in  the  world  and  I  am  very, 
very  lonely,"  she  would  buzz  at  every  one. 
"You  don't  even  know  how  to  fly.  How 
can  you  know  loneliness?  If  someone 
were  only  to  play  with  me !  But  no,  how 
can  they?  What  can  be  clumsier  and 
heavier  than  a  human  being?  The  ugliest 
creatures  I  have  ever  met." 

The  Last  Fly  annoyed  the  dog  and  the 
cat  and  everybody  else.  She  was  most 
hurt  when  she  heard  Aunt  Olga  say, 
"Please  don't  touch  the  Last  Fly.  Leave 
her  alone.  Let  her  live  through  the  win- 
ter." This  was  insulting!  It  sounded  as 


ioi 


if  she  was  not  even  considered  a  fly.  "Let 
her  live."  What  a  kindness ! 

"But  I  am  so  lonely!  Maybe  I  don't 
want  to  live.  That's  all  there's  to  it." 

The  Last  Fly  was  so  angry  at  everybody 
that  she  grew  frightened  at  herself.  She 
flew,  she  buzzed,  she  squeaked,  she 
squealed.  The  spider  in  the  corner  finally 
took  pity  on  her  and  said : 

"Dear  fly,  come  to  me.  See  how  pretty 
my  web  is!" 

"Thank  you  very  much,"  said  the  Last 
Fly.  "Are  you  my  new  friend?  I  know 
what  your  pretty  cob  web  means.  You 
were  probably  a  human  being  at  one  time 
who  is  now  pretending  to  be  a  spider." 

"You  know  J  wish  you  well,"  said  the 
spider. 

"Oh,  you  ugly  creature !"  said  the  Fly. 
"To  eat  the  Last  Fly  means  to  wish  me 
well,  hey?" 


They  had  a  great  quarrel.  Neverthe- 
less, it  was  lonely,  too  lonely  for  words  to 
tell.  The  Fly  was  bitter  against  every- 
body. She  grew  weary  and  in  a  loud  voice 
announced: 

"Since  all  of  you  refuse  to  understand 
how  lonely  I  am,  I  will  sit  here  in  the  cor- 
ner the  whole  winter  through.  That's  all 
there  is  to  it!  Yes,  I  will  stay  in  the  cor- 
ner and  nothing  will  make  me  leave  it.  So 
there !" 

When  she  returned  to  her  corner  she 
cried,  thinking  of  last  summer's  gladness. 
There  had  been  so  many  merry  flies.  How 
foolish  she  had  been  to  desire  to  be  left 
alone.  That  had  been  a  great  mistake. 

The  winter  seemed  endless  and  Last  Fly 
was  beginning  to  think  that  summer 
would  never  return.  She  wished  to  die 
and  she  wept  quietly.  Surely  human  be- 
ings invented  winter.  They  always 


seemed  to  think  of  things  that  harmed 
flies.  Perhaps  it  was  Aunt  Olga  who  had 
hidden  away  the  summer,  as  she  did  sugar 
and  jam.  Last  Fly  was  almost  dead  with 
despair  when  something  unexpected  hap- 
pened. 

One  day  she  was  sitting  in  her  corner, 
as  was  her  custom,  when  she  suddenly 
heard,  "Buzz!  Buzz!"  She  couldn't  be- 
lieve her  own  ears  at  first  and  then  she 
thought  that  someone  was  fooling  her. 
And  then — heavens ! — what  was  that?  A 
real  live  fly !  A  Fly,  very  young,  flew  past. 
It  was  just  born  and  it  was  glad. 

"Spring  is  coming !  Spring  is  coming !" 
it  buzzed. 

How  glad  the  two  were  to  see  each 
other!  They  embraced  and  kissed,  and 
licked  each  other's  feelers.  The  Last  Fly 
talked  for  days,  telling  her  new  friend 
what  an  awful  winter  she  had  spent  and 


how  lonely  she  had  been.  The  young  fly 
only  laughed  in  her  thin  little  voice.  She 
couldn't  understand  how  anyone  could  be 
lonely. 

"Spring!  Spring!"  she  joyfully  re- 
peated. 

When  Aunt  Olga  ordered  the  winter 
windows  removed  and  Verotchka  leaned 
out  of  the  first  open  window,  Last  Fly 
knew  what  was  happening. 

"Now,  I  know  it  all,  "buzzed  Last  Fly, 
flying  out  of  the  window.  "We  flies  make 
the  summer." 


< 


THE  STORY  OF  A  BLACK-HEADED  CROW 
AND  A  LITTLE  YELLOW  CANARY 


HE  Black-Headed  Crow  sat  in 
a  birch  tree,  pecking  at  a  twig. 
Peck!  Peck!  She  cleaned 
her  bill,  looked  around,  and 
suddenly  cawed,"  Caw !  Caw !" 


The  drowsy  cat,  Vaska,  sitting  on  a 
fence,  almost  fell  off  with  fright  at  the 
noise  and  growled : 

''What  is  the  matter  with  you,  Black- 
head? The  Lord  has  given  you  some 
voice !  What  are  you  happy  about?" 

The  Crow  answered,  "Leave  me  alone. 
Don't  you  see  I'm  busy?  Caw!  Caw! 
Caw !  So  much  to  do,  so  much  to  do." 

"You  poor  thing,"  laughed  Vaska. 

"Keep  still,  you  lazy  thing.  Your  sides 
must  be  all  worn  out  with  lying  about,  for- 
ever baking  in  the  sun;  while  I  know  no 
rest  from  early  morning.  Look  at  me. 
Just  see  what  I've  done  today.  I  perched 
on  ten  roofs,  flew  over  half  the  town, 
peeped  into  every  corner  and  hole  there  is, 
and  now  I  must  fly  up  the  church  steeple, 
visit  the  market,  and  dig  a  little  in  the 
garden.  But  I'm  really  wasting  time  talk- 


ing  to  you.  Too  busy!  Too  busy!  Caw! 
Caw !  Caw !" 

The  Crow  pecked  her  beak  for  the  last 
time  against  the  twig,  shook  her  feathers 
out  and  was  just  ready  to  fly  off  when  she 
heard  a  terrible  noise.  A  flock  of  spar- 
rows was  noisily  chasing  a  tiny  little  yel- 
low bird. 

"Catch  her !  Catch  her !"  squawked  the 
sparrows. 

"What's  happened?  Whither  away?" 
cawed  the  Crow,  following  the  sparrows. 

The  Crow  flapped  her  wings:ten  times 
and  caught  up  with  the  sparrows.  The 
tiny  yellow  bird,  completely  exhausted, 
dropped  into  the  little  garden  over- 
grown with  bushes  of  lilacs,  currants 
and  syringa,  to  hide  from  the  pursuing 
sparrows.  The  little  yellow  bird  hid 
under  a  bush  and  there  was  the  Crow. 

"Who  are  you?"  cawed  the  Crow. 


108 


The  sparrows  scattered  over  that  bush 
like  a  handful  of  peas.  They  were  furious 
with  the  little  yellow  bird  and  wanted  to 
peck  her  to  death. 

"What  do  you  want  with  her?"  asked 
the  Crow. 

"Why  is  she  yellow?"  peeped  the  spar- 
rows in  chorus. 

The  Crow  looked  at  the  little  yellow 
bird.  She  certainly  was  all  yellow.  He 
jerked  his  head  and  said : 

"Oh,  you  mischiefs !  Why,  it  isn't  a  bird 
at  all!  There  never  was  a  bird  like  this! 
However,  all  you  clear  out.  I  must  speak 
with  this  curiosity  that  pretends  to  be  a 
bird." 

The  sparrows  piped,  chatted,  and  were 
very  angry,  but  they  had  to  clear  out.  Con- 
versations with  a  Crow  are  always  very 
brief.  He  can  peck  you  to  death,  you 
know. 


After  chasing  the  sparrows,  the  Crow 
questioned  the  little  yellow  bird  that  was 
breathing  heavily  and  looking  pitifully  at 
him  with  her  little  black  eyes. 

"Who  are  you?"  asked  the  Crow. 

"I  am  a  canary." 

"No  fooling  now,  or  you  will  get  the 
worst  of  it.  Remember,  if  it  had  not  been 
for  me,  the  sparrows  would  have  pecked 
you  to  death." 

"But  I  am  a  canary." 

"Where  do  you  come  from?"  asked  the 
Crow. 

"I  lived  in  a  cage.  I  was  born  in  a  cage. 
I  grew  up  in  a  cage.  But  I  always  wanted 
to  fly  about  like  other  birds.  The  cage 
hung  near  the  window  and  I  always 
watched  other  birds.  They  looked  so 
happy  and  my  cage  seemed  so  small. 
Well,  one  day  when  the  little  girl, 
Verotchka,  brought  my  cup  of  water,  she 


left  the  door  open  and  I  flew  out.  I  flew 
about  the  room  first  and  then  I  flew  out 
through  the  open  window." 

"What  were  you  doing  in  a  cage?"  said 
the  Crow. 

"I  am  a  singer,  you  know." 

"Just  sing  for  me,  then,"  said  the  Crow. 

The  Canary  sang.  The  Crow,  with  his 
head  tilted  to  one  side,  listened  and  won- 
dered. 

"You  call  this  singing?"  he  exclaimed. 
"Ha!  Ha!  Ha!  How  foolish  were 
your  masters  to  feed  you  for  such  singing. 
If  they  fed  anyone,  why  should  it  not  have 
been  a  real  bird  like  me?  Just  a  while  ago 
I  cawed  and  that  rascal  Vaska  almost  fell 
off  the  fence.  That's  what  I  call  singing." 

"I  know  Vaska,  a  most  awful  beast l 
Many  a  time  he  softly  crept  to  my  cage,  his 
green  eyes  burning,  his  claws  out." 

"To  some,  he  seems  fierce,  but  not  to 


113 


others.  That  he  is  sly,  is  true,  but  there  is 
nothing  fierce  about  him.  However,  we 
can  talk  about  this  later,  for  somehow  I 
cannot  yet  believe  that  you  are  a  real 
bird." 

"But,  Aunty,  I  am  a  bird.  I  am  a  real 
bird.  All  canaries  are  birds,  you  know." 

"Very  well.  We  shall  see.  How  do  you 
expect  to  make  a  living?" 

"I  don't  need  very  much,  really.  A  few 
seeds,  a  bit  of  sugar  and  a  bit  of  toast. 
That  is  all." 

"What  a  lady  you  are!  A  bit  of  sugar 
indeed!  You  can  do  without  sugar.  As 
for  seeds,  those  might  be  found.  On  the 
whole,  I  like  you.  Do  you  want  to  live 
with  me?  I  have  a  splendid  nest  in  the 
birch  tree." 

"Thank  you.  But  how  about  the  spar- 
rows?" 

"If  you  live  with  me,  no  one  will  dare  to 


touch  you.  Not  only  the  sparrows,  but 
even  sly  Vaska  knows  my  character  well. 
I  don't  like  fooling." 

The  Canary  at  once  took  courage  and 
flew  off  with  the  Crow.  Yes,  the  nest  was 
fine.  If  there  were  only  some  toast  and  a 
wee  bit  of  sugar ! 

II 

O  the  Canary  and  the  Crow  lived 
together  in  one  nest.  Although 
the  Crow  liked  to  grumble  oc- 
casionally, on  the  whole  she  was 
not  unkind.  Her  chief  fault  was 
that  she  envied  everybody  and  very  often 
considered  herself  abused. 

"Will  you  tell  me  why  the  foolish  hens 
are  better  than  I?  Just  see  how  they  are 
cared  for,  fed  and  watched,"  she  would 
complain  to  the  Canary.  "Then  look  at 
the  pigeons.  Of  what  use  are  they?  and 


still  look  at  the  handfuls  of  oats  they  get. 
They  are  so  foolish.  Yet  whenever  I 
come  near  I  am  chased  from  every  corner. 
Is  this  just?  And  I'm  scolded,  too. 
Haven't  you  noticed  that  I'm  nicer  than 
other  birds  and  much  prettier,  too?  How- 
ever, one  should  not  say  such  things  about 
oneself.  Don't  you  think  so?" 

The  Canary  agreed  with  everything. 

"Yes,  you  are  a  big  bird,"  she  would 
say. 

"Here  you  are.  They  keep  parrots  in 
cages  and  look  after  them.  Can  you  see 
why  the  foolish  parrot  is  better  than  I? 
He  only  knows  how  to  scream  and  chatter 
and  no  one  can  really  understand  what 
he  says." 

"I  know.  We  had  a  parrot  that  every 
one  grew  tired  of,"  said  the  Canary. 

"Yes,  one  can  think  of  many  birds  that 
live,  no  one  knows  why.  For  instance,  the 


starling ;  it  comes  like  a  mad  thing  no  one 
knows  whence,  stays  through  the  summer, 
and  flies  away  again.  There  are  also  the 
swallows,  the  bluebirds  and  nightingales, 
but  one  can't  really  count  all  this  rubbish. 
There  isn't  a  single  really  desirable  bird. 
Why,  just  as  soon  as  there  is  a  cold  breeze, 
all  of  them  seem  to  fly  away,  the  Lord 
knows  where." 

In  reality,  the  Crow  and  the  Canary  did 
not  understand  each  other.  The  Canary 
could  not  understand  a  life  of  freedom; 
the  Crow  could  not  understand  a  life  of 
captivity. 

"Aunty,  has  no  one  ever  thrown  you  a 
bit  of  seed/'  wondered  the  Canary,  "not  a 
single  grain?" 

"How  foolish  you  are  to  talk  of  seeds, 
when  I  have  to  dodge  sticks  and  stones. 
People  are  very  cruel." 

With   this,   the   Canary   could   never, 


agree,  because  people  had  always  been 
kind  to  her.  She  thought  that  the  Crow 
imagined  these  things,  but  the  Canary  was 
soon  to  see  the  cruelty  of  people.  Once, 
perched  on  a  fence,  she  heard  a  heavy 
stone  whizz  over  her  very  head.  Some 
school  boys  walking  past  the  fence  saw 
the  Crow  and  couldn't  resist  throwing  a 
stone  at  her. 

"Now,  have  you  seen  for  yourself?1' 
asked  the  Crow,  climbing  upon  the  roof. 
"People  are  always  like  that." 

"Perhaps  you  have  done  something  to 
annoy  them,  Aunty." 

"Nothing  at  all.  They  are  just  cruel 
and  all  of  them  hate  me." 

The  Canary  felt  very  sorry  for  the  poor 
Crow  whom  no  one  loved.  It  must  be 
very  hard  to  live  under  such  circum- 
stances. 

On  the  whole,  there  were  many  enemies. 


For  instance,  Vaska,  with  his  oily  eyes, 
watching  the  birds  and  always  feigning 
sleep.  The  Canary  saw  with  her  own 
eyes  how  he  caught  a  young  inexper- 
ienced sparrow;  one  could  only  see  the 
feathers  flying,  and  hear  the  bones  crack- 
ling. Horrible!  Horrible!  Then  the 
hawks,  too ;  very  fine  to  watch  them  as 
they  sail  up  into  the  air,  but  suddenly  you 
see  them,  like  a  heavy  stone  dropping  to 
the  ground,  and  before  you  know  it,  a 
chick  is  in  their  claws. 

All  this  the  Canary  saw.  The  Crow, 
however,  was  not  afraid  of  either  cats  or 
hawks.  She  often  had  a  notion  to  have  a 
taste  of  a  young  bird  herself.  At  first,  the 
Canary  could  not  believe  this,  but  she 
really  did  see  this  with  her  own  eyes.  A 
flock  of  sparrows  were  chasing  the  Crow, 
chattering  and  screaming. 

"Let  her  go!    Let  her  go!"  screamed 


the  sparrows,  beside  themselves,  flying 
over  the  Crow's  nest  in  a  frenzy.  "This  is 
awful !  This  is  real  robbery!" 

The  Crow  hid  deep  in  her  nest  and  the 
Canary  saw  with  horror  a  bleeding  spar- 
row, dead. 

"Aunty,  what  are  you  doing?" 

"Keep  still !"  said  the  Crow. 

Her  eyes  were  horrible.  They  seemed 
to  burn.  The  Canary  had  to  shut  her  own 
eyes  for  fear  she  would  see  the  Crow  gob- 
bling up  the  poor  little  victim. 

"Some  day  she  may  even  eat  me," 
thought  the  Canary. 

Having  satisfied  her  hunger,  the  Crow 
grew  kinder  and  kinder.  She  cleaned  her 
bill,  perched  comfortably  and  fell  into  a 
sweet  slumber.  The  Canary  noticed  that 
the  Crow  was  very  greedy  and  not  very 
particular  as  to  what  she  ate. 


Sometimes  she  would  carry  a  piece  of 
bread,  a  bit  of  decayed  meat,  or  some  leav- 
ings found  in  a  dump  hole.  The  dump 
hole  the  Crow  liked  best,  but  the  Canary 
could  never  understand  the  pleasure  of 
digging  in  such  places. 

In  fact,  it  was  hard  to  blame  the  Crow. 
She  alone  ate  in  one  day  food  enough  for 
twenty  canaries.  The  Crow  had  only  one 
care — food.  Perched  on  some  roof,  she 
was  always  on  the  lookout  for  food. 

When  the  Crow  was  too  lazy  to  search 
for  food,  she  would  resort  to  slyness.  If 
she  saw  a  flock  of  sparrows  tearing  at 
something,  she  would  fly  right  over  to 
them,  pretending  she  was  just  passing  by, 
cawing  with  her  whole  might,  "Caw! 
Caw!  I'm  busy!  I'm  busy!" 

She  would  then  swoop  down,  grab  the 
booty,  and  that  was  the  end  of  it. 


"But  it  isn't  a  bit  nice  to  take  food  away 
from  others,"  once  remarked  the  indig- 
nant Canary. 

"Isn't  it?    But  what  if  I  am  hungry?" 

"Others  are  hungry,  too,"  said  the 
Canary. 

"Well,  let  them  look  out  for  themselves. 
It  is  easy  enough  for  you,  the  pets,  cuddled 
in  cages.  We  have  to  get  our  own  food. 
You  and  the  sparrows — how  much  do  you 
need?  A  few  grains  and  you  are  satisfied 
for  the  whole  day." 

Ill 

UMMER  passed  unnoticed.  The 
sun  seemed  to  grow  colder,  the 
day  shorter.  Rains  began  to  fall. 
A  cold  wind  blew.  The  Canary 
felt  herself  a  most  unfortunate 

bird,  especially  when  it  rained.    But  the 

Crow,  did  not  seem  to  mind  it. 


"What  if  it  does  rain?  It  will  stop," 
said  the  Crow. 

"But  it  is  so  cold,  too  cold,  Aunty," 
said  the  Canary. 

It  was  especially  hard  at  night.  The 
little  wet  Canary  would  shiver  with  cold 
and  the  Crow  would  scold  at  her. 

"Oh,  you  baby!  What  will  you  do 
when  the  real  frost  comes  and  the  snow 
falls?" 

The  Crow  was  puzzled.  "What  sort  of 
bird  is  this  that  is  afraid  of  rain,  wind  and 
cold?"  And  she  began  to  doubt  once  more 
whether  the  Canary  was  a  real  bird,  after 
all.  "Surely  she  must  be  pretending." 

"Truly,  Aunty,  I  am  a  real  bird."  the 
Canary  would  assert  with  tears  in  her  eyes, 
"even  if  I  do  feel  cold  sometimes." 

"Look  out,  now !  It  always  seems  to  me 
that  you  are  only  pretending  to  be  a  bird," 
said  the  Crow. 


"Honestly,  Aunty,  I'm  not  pretend- 
ing." 

Sometimes  the  Canary  would  try  to 
think  about  her  future.  Perhaps  it  would 
have  been  better  to  have  stayed  in  the  cage, 
after  all.  There  it  was  warm  and  one  al- 
ways had  plenty  to  eat. 

Several  times  she  flew  up  to  the  window, 
where  her  old  cage  hung.  Two  new 
Canaries  looked  out  at  her  and  envied  her. 

"Oh,  how  cold  it  is !"  pitifully  piped  the 
freezing  Canary.  "How  I  would  like  to 
be  in  there  with  you." 

One  morning  the  Canary  looked  out  of 
the  Crow's  nest.  She  was  astonished  at  the 
dreary  sight.  Over  night,  the  ground  had 
been  covered  with  the  first  snow.  Every- 
thing was  white,  but,  saddest  of  all,  the 
snow  covered  all  the  grains  on  which  the 
Canary  fed.  There  remained  only  the 
mountain  ash  berry,  but  she  couldn't  pos- 


sibly  eat  that !  It  was  too  sour !  As  for  the 
Crow,  she  ate  that,  saying,  "Very  fine!" 

After  starving  two  whole  days,  the 
Canary  was  in  despair. 

"What  is  going  to  happen  to  me?  I  will 
die  of  hunger,"  thought  the  Canary. 

The  next  day  the  Canary  sat  wondering 
when  suddenly  she  saw  coming  into  the 
garden  the  very  same  boys  who  had 
thrown  stones  at  the  Crow.  They  spread 
a  net  on  the  ground  and  covered  it  with 
very  tasty  bird  seed  then  went  away. 

"These  boys  aren't  so  bad,"  said  the 
happy  Canary,  looking  at  the  seeds. 
"Look,  Aunty,  the  boys  have  brought 
me  some  food." 

"Very  fine  food,  I  must  say,"  croaked 
the  Crow.  "Don't  you  dare  stick  your 
bill  in  there!  Do  you  hear  me!  If  you 
try  to  get  that  seed,  you  will  be  caught  in 
the  net." 


"And  what  will  happen  then?"  asked 
the  Canary. 

"Why,  they  will  put  you  into  a  cage 
again,"  said  the  Crow. 

The  Canary  grew  thoughtful.  She 
wanted  food,  but  she  did  not  want  a  cage. 
Of  course,  it  was  cold  and  at  times  there 
was  little  to  eat.  Still,  life  in  freedom  was 
better,  especially  when  it  did  not  rain. 
For  several  days  the  Canary  was  strong. 
But  hunger  was  stronger.  Finally  she 
just  had  to  yield  to  her  longing  for  food. 
She  was  caught  in  the  net. 

"Help !  Help !"  piped  the  Canary  piti- 
fully. "I  will  never  do  it  again.  It  is 
better  to  die  of  hunger  than  to  live  in  a 
cage." 

The  Canary  now  thought  that  there  was 
nothing  in  the  whole  world  nicer  than  the 
Crow's  nest.  Of  course,  it  was  cold  and 
occasionally  one  had  no  food.  But  there 


126 


Jo  »»j 


was  freedom.  One  could  fly  about  where- 
ever  one  pleased.  She  wept,  waiting  for 
the  boys  to  come  to  put  her  into  the  cage. 
But  as  luck  would  have  it,  the  Crow 
passed  by  that  very  moment  and  spied  the 
Canary  in  difficulty. 

"You  are  foolish,"  scolded  the  Crow. 
"Didn't  I  tell  you  not  to  touch  those 
seeds?" 

"Aunty,  Pll  never  do  it  again." 

The  Crow  was  just  in  time.  The  boys 
were  already  on  their  way  to  fetch  their 
victim.  The  Crow  tore  the  net  quickly 
with  her  beak.  The  Canary  was  free. 

The  boys  chased  the  Crow,  throwing 
sticks  and  stones  and  scolding  her  for 
some  time. 

"How  nice  it  is  to  be  free,"  chirped  the 
glad  Canary,  finding  herself  once  more  in 
the  Crow's  nest. 

"Of  course,  it's  nice.    You'd  better  take 


7 


care  if  you  want  to  stay  free,"  scolded  the 
Crow. 

The  Canary,  safe  in  the  Crow's  nest, 
started  life  anew.  Never  again  did  she 
complain  of  either  cold  or  hunger. 

One  day,  the  Crow  flew  away  in  search 
of  food  and  stayed  all  night  in  the  field. 
When  she  returned  she  found  the  little 
Canary  lying  in  the  nest  with  her  little  legs 
up — cold  and  stiff. 

The  Crow  tilted  her  head  to  one  side 
and  looking  very  closely  at  the  Canary, 
she  said : 

"Well,  I  told  you  you  were  not  a  real 
bird," 


8 


THE  WISEST  OF  ALL 

I 

URKEY  GOBBLER  awoke 
as  usual  before  any  one  else. 
It  was  still  dark.  He  woke  up 
his  wife  and  said : 

"Am  I  not  the  wisest  of  all? 


Turkey  Hen  was  not  quite  awake.  She 
coughed  and  then  answered : 

"Oh,  you  are  very  wise.  Khe!  Khe! 
Khe!  Who  does  not  know  that?  Khe! 
Khe!  Khe!" 

"No,  it  isn't  enough  to  say 'wisest  of 
all/  "  said  Turkey  Gobbler.  "There  are 
plenty  of  wise  birds,  but  the  wisest  of  all 
is  one,  and  that  is  I." 

"The  wisest  of  all!  Khe!  Khe!  Khe! 
The  wisest  of  all!  Khe!  Khe!  Khe!" 

"That's  right,"  said  Turkey  Gobbler. 

A  little  cross,  Turkey  Gobbler  added  in 
a  voice  that  other  birds  might  hear : 

"Do  you  know,  I  think  that  I  am  not 
respected  enough." 

"You  only  imagine  that.    Khe !    Khe !" 

Turkey  Hen  calmed  him,  at  the  same 
time  smoothing  her  feathers  that  had 
ruffled  over  night. 

"You  only  think  that,  for  one  could  not 


imagine  a  wiser  bird  than  you.     Khe! 
Kbe!" 

"What  about  the  Gander?  Oh,  I  see 
everything.  Of  course,  he  is  silent  most  of 
the  time,  never  saying  anything  directly, 
but  I  feel  that  silently  he  does  not  respect 


me." 


"Don't  pay  any  attention  to  him,"  said 
Turkey  Hen.  "He  isn't  worth  it.  Khe! 
Khe!  Haven't  you  noticed  how  foolish 
he  is?" 

"Any  one  can  see  that,"  said  Turkey 
Gobbler.  "It  is  written  all  over  his  face, 
*  Foolish  Gander,'  and  nothing  else.  But 
it  isn't  really  the  Gander,  for,  after  all,  can 
one  be  angry  with  a  fool?  The  Rooster, 
for  instance.  The  most  ordinary  Rooster. 
Did  you  hear  him  scream  at  me  the  other 
day?  He  screamed  so  loudly  that  all  the 
neighbors  heard  him.  It  seemed  to  me  he 


131 


was  saying  I  was  foolish  or  something  like 
that." 

"How  strange  you  are,"  said  Turkey 
Hen,  astonished.  "Don't  you  know  why 
Rooster  screams?" 

"Why?"  asked  Turkey  Gobbler. 

"Khe!  Khe!  Khe!  It's  very  simple  and 
everybody  knows  it.  You're  a  Cock  and 
he's  a  Cock.  Only  he  is  a  very,  very  com- 
mon Cock,  while  you  are  a  real  beyond- 
the-sea  Indian  Cock.  That's  why  he 
screams  with  envy.  Every  bird  wishes  to 
be  an  Indian  Cock.  Khe!  Khe!" 

"But  that's  hard  to  be,  mother.  Ha! 
ha!  ha!  Some  ambition  for  a  common 
little  Rooster  to  become  a  Turkey  Gob- 
bler! No,  sir.  That  never  can  be!"  said 
Turkey  Gobbler. 

Turkey  Hen  was  a  very  modest,  kind 
bird.  She  was  always  worried  when  Tur- 
key Gobbler  quarreled  with  anyone* 


This  morning,  he  was  hardly  awake 
when  he  was  thinking  with  whom  to  pick 
a  quarrel  and  fight.  He  was  a  restless 
bird,  though  not  unkind.  Turkey  Hen 
was  often  hurt  when  other  birds  made 
sport  of  Turkey  Gobbler,  calling  him, 
"Old  Stuck-Up"  or  "Chatterbox"  or 
"Empty-Head."  They  were  partly  right, 
of  course.  But  then,  there  are  no  birds 
without  faults.  That's  why  it  is  pleasant 
to  find  in  another  bird  even  the  tiniest 
shortcomings. 

The  birds,  now  awakened,  proceeded 
from  the  poultry  house  into  the  barnyard, 
and  at  once  there  arose  a  horrible  clatter. 
The  hens  made  the  most  noise;  they  ran 
around  the  yard,  they  climbed  on  the  kit- 
chen windows,  and  they  screamed,  beside 
themselves, 

"Cut-a-cut !  Cut-a-cut !  Cut-a-cut ! 
We  are  hungry!  Cook  Matryona  must 


either  be  dead  or  she  wants  to  starve  us  to 
death." 

"Ladies  and  gentlemen,  have  pa- 
tience!" remarked  Gander,  standing  on 
one  leg.  "Look  at  me.  I,  too,  am  hungry, 
but  I  don't  shout  in  the  way  you  do.  If  I 
were  to  open  my  mouth  and  scream, 
'Quack!  Quack!  or  louder,  'QUACK! 
QUACK!  QUACK!'  .  .  ." 

Gander  quacked  so  loudly  that  Cook 
Matryona  awakened  immediately. 

"It's  easy  for  him  to  talk  of  patience," 
grumbled  a  Duck.  "His  throat  is  like  a 
megaphone.  If  I  had  a  neck  as  long  as 
his,  and  a  bill  as  strong  as  his,  Pd  also 
preach  patience.  I  would  also  have  my 
food  before  any  one  else,  and  preach  pa- 
tience to  the  others.  We  know  Master 
Gander's  patience." 

Rooster,  supporting  Duck  in  this, 
screamed,  "Yes,  it's  easy  for  Gander  to 


talk  of  patience.  Who  pulled  out  two  of 
my  finest  tail  feathers  yesterday?  It  is  dis- 
honorable to  grab  hold  of  a  bird's  tail.  Of 
course,  we  quarreled  slightly  and  I  won't 
deny  that  I  intended  to  pick  Gander's 
head,  but  then  I  was  to  blame,  not  my  poor 
tail.  Am  I  not  right,  ladies  and  gentle- 
men?" 

Hungry  birds,  like  hungry  people,  be- 
come unjust — just  because  they  are 
hungry. 

n 

URKEY  GOBBLER,  through 

sheer  pride,  never  scrambled 
for  food  like  other  birds.  He 
always  waited  patiently  for 
Matryona  to  chase  some 

greedy  bird  away  and  to  call  him. 

It  was  the  same  this  morning.    Turkey 

Gobbler  strutted  along  the  side  of  the 


fence,  pretending  to  be  looking  for  some- 
thing. 

"Khe!  Khe!  I  am  so  hungry,"  com- 
plained Turkey  Hen,  stepping  along  be- 
hind her  husband.  "Cook  Matryona  has 
already  strewn  the  oats  and  now,  I  think, 
the  leftover  cereal  of  yesterday  is  coming. 
Khe !  Khe !  Oh,  how  I  do  love  cereal !  I 
think  I  could  eat  nothing  but  cereal  the 
rest  of  my  life.  I  even  dream  of  cereal 
sometimes." 

Turkey  Hen  liked  to  complain  when 
she  was  hungry  and  she  demanded  sym- 
pathy from  Turkey  Gobbler.  Compared 
with  other  birds,  she  looked  like  an  old 
woman,  humping  her  back  and  coughing. 
She  even  walked  with  a  broken  gait,  as  if 
her  legs  didn't  belong  to  her. 

"Yes,  it  would  be  nice  to  have  some 
cereal,"  said  Turkey  Gobbler,  agreeing 
with  her.  "But  a  wise  bird  never  scram- 


136 


bles  for  food.  Am  I  not  right?  If  my 
master  does  not  feed  me,  then  I  die  of 
hunger.  Just  let  him  find  another  Turkey 
Gobbler  like  me!" 

"There  is  not  another  like  you,"  said 
Turkey  Hen. 

"Of  course  not,"  said  her  husband. 

"In  reality,  cereal  is  nothing.  It  is  not 
a  question  of  cereal,  but  of  Matryona. 
Am  I  not  right?  As  long  as  there  is  Mat- 
ryona there  will  be  cereal.  Everything  in 
the  world  depends  upon  Matryona — oats, 
cereal,  grains  and  crusts  of  bread." 

In  spite  of  these  discussions,  Turkey 
Gobbler  began  to  feel  the  pangs  of  hun- 
ger. He  became  very  sad  indeed. 

All  the  birds  had  been  fed,  and  still 
Matryona  did  not  call  him.  Could  she 
have  forgotten  him?  That  would  be  no 
joke. 

Then     something     happened     which 


caused  Turkey  Gobbler  to  forget  his 
hunger. 

A  young  hen,  walking  near  the  barn, 
began  to  call,  "Cut-a-cut!  Cut-a-cut! 
Cut-a-cut !"  All  the  other  hens  took  up  the 
call  at  once,  screaming  with  all  their 
might,  "Cut-a-cut !  Cut-a-cut  I"  Loudest 
of  all  was  Rooster,  of  course,  with  his 
"Cock-a-doodle-doo!  Who's  there?" 

Attracted  by  the  noise,  all  the  birds  ran 
toward  the  barn.  There  they  saw  a  most 
unusual  sight.  Close  to  the  barn,  in  a 
hole,  lay  something  gray  and  round  and 
all  covered  with  sharp  needles. 

"Just  an  ordinary  stone/'  said  one. 

"It's  moving,"  exclaimed  Little  Hen. 
"I  also  thought  it  was  a  stone,  but  it  moved 
when  I  came  close,  and  it  seems  to  me  that 
I  saw  eyes.  Stones  have  no  eyes,  you 
know." 

"A  foolish  hen  can  see  anything  if  she  is 


•!   •«•   ••••• 


frightened,"  remarked  Turkey  Gobbler. 
"Perhaps  it  ...  it  ..." 

He  was  interrupted  by  Gander,  who 
screamed : 

"It's  a  mushroom.  I  have  seen  mush- 
rooms just  like  this,  only  they  had  no 
needles." 

Everybody  laughed  loudly  at  the 
Gander. 

"It  looks  more  like  a  hat,"  someone  ven- 
tured to  say,  but  this  remark,  too,  met  with 
laughter. 

"A  hat  has  no  eyes." 

"Let  us  waste  no  time  in  empty  conver- 
sation. Let  us  act,"  decided  the  Rooster 
for  everybody.  "Hey,  you  thing  full  of 
needles,  you  speak  for  yourself!  What 
sort  of  beast  are  you?  I  like  no  fooling. 
Do  you  hear?" 

As  there  was  no  answer,  the  Rooster  felt 
insulted,  and  threw  himself  upon  the  un- 


known  offender.  He  tried  to  peck  him 
once  or  twice  but  stepped  aside,  abashed. 

"It  is  nothing  but  a  huge  pine  cone,"  he 
said.  "Nothing  tasty  about  it.  Would 
someone  like  to  try?" 

Everybody  chattered,  saying  the  first 
thing  that  occurred  to  him. 

There  was  no  end  to  the  different  opin- 
ions. Turkey  Gobbler  was  the  only  silent 
one.  All  the  others  chattered  while  he 
listened  to  their  foolishness.  They  clat- 
tered and  chattered  for  a  long  time,  until 
someone  shouted : 

"Ladies  and  gentlemen,  we  are  wasting 
time,  and  needlessly  tiring  ourselves,  when 
we  have  Turkey  Gobbler  with  us.  He 
knows  everything." 

"I  do,  indeed!"  said  Turkey  Gobbler, 
spreading  his  tail  and  puffing  out  his  red 
wattles. 


"If  you  do,  then  tell  us  who  is  this 
strange  creature." 

"And  if  I  don't  want  to  tell  you?  Just 
refuse  to  tell  you?"  said  Turkey  Gobbler. 

Then  all  the  birds  began  to  beg  him  to 
tell  them. 

"You  are  our  wisest  bird,  Turkey  Gob- 
bler. Please  tell  us.  It  will  cost  you  noth- 
ing." 

Turkey  Gobbler  plumed  himself  for  a 
time  and  finally  said : 

"Very  well.  I  will.  Yes,  I  will  tell  you. 
But  first  you  must  answer  me — what  do 
you  think  of  me?" 

"Who  doesn't  know?  You  are  the 
wisest  of  all!"  they  answered  in  chorus. 
"Isn't  there  a  saying,  'As  wise  as  a 
Turkey?' " 

"Then  you  do  respect  me?"  asked  Tur- 
key Gobbler. 


"Of  course  we  do.  All  of  us  respect 
you." 

Turkey  Gobbler  plumed  himself 
some  more,  puffed  up  his  red  wattles, 
strutted  around  the  strange  beast  three 
times  and  finally  said : 

"This  is  ...  So  you  want  to  know 
what  this  is?" 

"We  do !  Please  tell  us !  Don't  torture 
us  any  longer!"  said  the  others. 

"This  .  .  .  but  it  is  creeping!"  said 
Turkey  Gobbler. 

The  fowls  felt  like  laughing  at  him 
when  a  giggle  was  heard  and  a  thin  little 
voice  said : 

"There  is  the  wisest  bird  of  all!  He! 
He!  He!"  And  from  under  the  needles 
appeared  a  black  snout  and  two  tiny  black 
eyes.  The  tiny  black  snout  sniffed  the  air 
and  said : 

"Hello,  everybody!    Is  it  possible  that 


you  do  not  recognize  Porcupine — Porcu- 
pine Gray?  Pardon  me  ...  but  what  a 
funny  Turkey  Gobbler  you  have!  I  really 
do  not  know  how  to  say  it  politely  .  .  . 
but  your  Turkey  Gobbler  is  stupid." 


Ill 


rERYBODY  was  horrified  at 
this    insult    that    Porcupine 
hurled  at  Turkey  Gobbler.  Of 
course,  Turkey  Gobbler  did 
say  a  foolish  thing  just  now, 
but  it  does  not  mean  that  Porcupine  has 
any  right  to  insult  him. 

It  is  very  rude  to  enter  a  house  and  then 
to  insult  the  master.  You  must  admit  that 
a  Turkey  Gobbler  is  a  very  dignified  and 
imposing  bird.  There  is  surely  no  com- 
parison between  him  and  a  Gray  Porcu- 
pine. 


145 


Suddenly,  everybody  sided  with  Turkey 
Gobbler  and  there  arose  a  terrific  clatter. 

"Porcupine  probably  thinks  that  all  of 
us  are  foolish,"  said  Rooster,  flapping  his 
wings. 

"He  insulted  all  of  us!  If  any  one  is 
foolish,  it  is  surely  the  Porcupine  him- 
self," said  Gander,  stretching  his  neck. 
"I  noticed  that  at  once." 

"How  can  mushrooms  be  foolish?" 
answered  Porcupine. 

"Ladies  and  gentlemen,  we  are  wasting 
time  talking  to  him."  shouted  Rooster. 
"He  will  not  understand  us,  anyway.  If, 
instead,  you,  Mr.  Gander,  were  to  grab  his 
needles  on  one  side,  and  Master  Gobbler 
and  I  on  the  other  side,  we  would  at  once 
know  who  is  the  wiser,  for  you  cannot 
hide  brains  under  foolish  needles." 

"I  am  ready,"  replied  Gander.  "It 
would  be  better  still  if  I  were  to  grab  his 


needles  in  the  back  and  you,  Master 
Rooster,  pecked  his  snout.  Then,  ladies 
and  gentlemen,  it  will  be  seen  who  is  the 


wisest/' 


Turkey  Gobbler  was  silent  all  this  time. 
At  first,  he  was  overwhelmed  by  the  Por- 
cupine's impudence  and  he  did  not  know 
what  answer  to  make.  Then  Turkey  Gob- 
bler grew  so  angry,  so  angry  that  he  was 
horrified  at  himself.  His  first  wish  was  to 
throw  himself  upon  the  offender  and  tear 
him  into  tiny  bits.  Then  would  the  world 
see  and  be  convinced  what  a  strict  and 
serious  bird  a  Turkey  Gobbler  is.  He 
even  started  in  Porcupine's  direction, 
blowing  himself  up  more  and  more,  and 
just  as  he  was  about  to  throw  himself  upon 
Porcupine  everybody  began  shouting  and 
scolding  the  stranger.  Turkey  Gobbler 
stopped  and  waited  patiently  to  see  the  end 
of  it  all. 


< 


When  Rooster  suggested  that  they  grab 
Porcupine's  needles  and  drag  him  in  dif- 
ferent directions,  Turkey  Gobbler  stop- 
ped his  ardor. 

"Ladies  and  gentlemen,"  said  he,  "per- 
haps all  this  can  be  settled  amicably.  Yes, 
it  seems  to  me  there  is  a  little  misunder- 
standing here.  Leave  the  whole  thing  to 


me." 


"Very  well.  Let  us  wait,"  agreed  the 
Rooster,  unwillingly.  He  was  eager  to 
fight  Porcupine.  "I  know  nothing  will 
come  of  it." 

"This  is  my  affair,"  answered  Turkey 
Gobbler  calmly.  "Just  stay  around  and 
hear  what  I  say." 

All  the  birds  formed  a  ring  around  Por- 
cupine and  waited. 

Turkey  Gobbler  walked  around  the 
stranger,  coughed  and  said: 

"Listen,  Mr.  Porcupine.    Let  us  have  a 


serious  explanation.  In  general,  I  do  not 
like  domestic  troubles." 

"Heavens!  How  wise!  How  wise  he 
is!"  thought  Turkey  Hen,  listening  to  her 
husband,  silent  with  admiration. 

"First  of  all,  I  want  you  to  understand 
that  you  are  in  respectable,  well-behaved 
society,"  said  Turkey  Gobbler,  "and  that 
means  something.  Yes,  you  may  consider 
it  an  honor  to  get  into  our  company." 

"True!    True!"  shouted  several. 

"But  this  is  between  ourselves.  The 
main  thing  is  not  .  .  ."  here  Turkey  Gob- 
bler stopped,  was  silent  a  moment  for  bet- 
ter effect,  then  continued,  "Yes,  the  main 
thing  is — did  you  really  think  that  we  had 
no  idea  what  a  Porcupine  was?  I  have  no 
doubt  that  Gander  was  only  joking  when 
he  took  you  for  a  mushroom.  And  I  can 
say  the  same  of  what  Rooster  and  the 


others  said.  Am  I  not  right,  ladies  and 
gentlemen?" 

"You  certainly  are,  Turkey  Gobbler," 
shouted  the  fowls  in  a  voice  so  loud,  that 
poor  Gray  Porcupine  tucked  in  her  little 
black  snout.  - 

"Oh,  how  wise  he  is!"  thought  Turkey 
Hen,  beginning  to  understand  what  her 
husband  was  driving  at. 

"You  see,  Master  Porcupine,"  con- 
tinued Turkey  Gobbler,  "we  all  like  our 
little  jokes.  I  will  not  speak  for  myself. 
Why  not  have  a  little  joke?  And  as  I  see 
it,  you,  Mr.  Porcupine,  seem  also  to  be  of 
a  merry  disposition." 

"And  you  guessed  right,"  admitted 
Porcupine,  once  more  showing  his  little 
black  snout.  "I  have  such  a  merry  dis- 
position that  I  cannot  sleep  at  night. 
Many  cannot  stand  that,  but  sleeping 
bores  me." 


"You  will  probably  agree  best  with  our 
Rooster,  who  crows  like  mad  all  night," 
said  Turkey  Gobbler. 

Everybody  suddenly  became  gay.  They 
all  felt  Porcupine  was  there  to  complete 
their  happiness. 

Turkey  Gobbler  was  triumphant  at  so 
cleverly  getting  out  of  an  awkward  situa- 
tion caused  by  Porcupine's  laughing  in 
his  face  and  calling  him  stupid. 

"Now  Mr.  Porcupine,"  said  Turkey 
Gobbler,  winking,  "confess  that  even 
you  were  joking  when  you  said  that  I  was 
not  a  wise  bird." 

"Of  course,  I  was  joking,"  said  Porcu- 
pine, reassuring  him.  "I  have  a  merry 
disposition.  I  love  to  joke." 

"Yes,  yes,  I  was  quite  sure  of  that. 
Ladies  and  gentlemen,  have  you  heard 
him?"  asked  Turkey  Gobbler. 


"Of  course,  we  did.  No  one  could 
doubt  it.  He  was  joking." 

Turkey  Gobbler  bent  close  to  Porcu- 
pine's ear  and  whispered: 

"I  want  to  tell  you  a  horrible  secret. 
But  only  on  one  condition — don't  breathe 
it  to  a  soul.  It  is  true  ...  I  am  a  little 
ashamed  to  talk  about  myself  .  ,  .  but 
how  can  I  help  it?  I  am  the  wisest  bird ! 
At  times,  it  even  embarrasses  me,  but  as 
the  wise  Russians  say,  'You  can't  hide  an 
awl  in  a  sack.'  Please  not  a  word  of  this 
to  anyone  I" 


THE  STORY  OF  LITTLE  MILK,   LITTLE 
CEREAL    AND    GRAY    KITTEN,    MOORKA 

I 

T  was  wonderful.  It  was  wonderful 
that  it  happened  every  day.  As 
soon  as  Cook  placed  the  pot  of 
milk  and  the  earthenware  oatmeal 
pan  upon  the  stove,  it  would  all 


begin.    At  first,  there  was  silence;  then 
conversation. 
"I  am  Little  Milk." 
"And  I  am  Little  Cereal." 
At  first,  conversation  was  carried  on  in 
whispers.     -But    gradually    both    Little 
Cereal  and  Little  Milk  would  grow  more 
and  more  excited. 
"I  AM  LITTLE  MILK!" 
"AND  I  AM  LITTLE  CEREAL!" 
The  cereal  was  generally  covered  with 
an  earthenware  cover  and  she  grumbled 
away  in  her  pot  like  an  old  woman.  When 
she  grew  angry,  there  came  to  the  top  a 
bubble  that  burst  and  said: 

"Still,  I  am  Little  Cereal.    Puff!!" 
This  boasting  was  offensive  to  Little 
Milk. 

"My  what  a  wonder!  As  if  one  had 
never  seen  oatmeal  cereal  before!"  and 
Little  Milk  would  grow  more  and  more 


excited  until  rising  to  the  top  in  a  foam, 
she  tried  to  get  out  from  the  pot.  No 
sooner  would  Cook  turn  her  head  away 
than  Little  Milk  would  run  all  ove^the  hot 
stove. 

"Oh,  this  milk,"  complained  Cook 
every  time  it  happened.  "No  sooner  do  I 
take  my  eyes  off  it  than  it  runs  over." 

"I  can't  help  my  fiery  temper,"  would 
reply  LittlelMilk,  defending  herself.  "It 
doesn't  make  me  happy  to  be  angry  and  to 
hear  the  boastings  of  Cereal,  Trn  Cereal! 
I'm  Cereal!  I'm  Cereal!'  To  see  her  sit- 
ting there  in  her  pan  and .  grumbling 
makes  me  angrier  and  angrier." 

It  happened  sometimes  that,  in  spite  of 
the  cover,  Little  Cereal  would  escape  from 
her  pan  and  creep  along  the  stove,  forever 
repeating: 

"I'm  Cereal!  I'm  Cereal!  I'm  Cereal!" 
Z-h-h!  Z-h-h!" 


Of  course,  this  did  not  happen  every- 
day, but  it  did  happen,  and  each  time, 
Cook  in  despair  would  say : 

"Oh,  this  Cereal!  It  is  amazing  how  it 
will  not  stay  in  the  pan." 


II 


>S  a  rule,  Cook  was  excited.    Of 
course,  there  were  plenty  of 
reasons  for  her  agitation.    For 
instance,     there     was     Kitty 
Moorka.      He    was    a    very 
beautiful  cat  and  Cook  loved  him  very 
much.    In  the  morning,  Moorka  would 
follow  at  the  Cook's  heels  and  meow  so 
pitifully  that  it  would  melt  a  heart  of  stone. 
"Isn't  your  belly  ever  filled?"  asked 
Cook,  astonished,  chasing  the  cat.    "Just 
think  of  all  that  liver  you  ate  last  night." 
"But   that  was   yesterday,"   answered 


Moorka,  astonished  in  his  turn.  "To-day, 
I  am  hungry  again.  Meow." 

"Why  don't  you  catch  mice  if  your're 
hungry?  Lazy!  That's  what  you  are!" 

"Talking  is  very  easy.  I'd  like  to  see 
you  catch  a  mouse,"  Moorka  defended 
himself.  "However,  I  always  try  hard. 
Who  caught  a  mouse  last  week?  Who 
had  a  scratch  the  full  length  of  his  nose? 
That's  the  kind  of  rat  I  almost  caught. 
Then  she  grabbed  hold  of  my  nose.  It's 
easy  to  talk  of  catching  mice.  Indeed !" 

After  eating  his  liver,  Moorka  would 
sit  somewhere  near  the  stove  where  it  was 
warm,  close  his  eyes  and  doze  sweetly. 

"I  hope  you're  full,  now,"  said  Cook. 
"Even  your  eyes  are  squinting.  Well,  you 
lie-on-your-side  cat?  Always  meat,  meat, 


meat!' 


"I'm  no  vegetarian,  you  know.    I  can 
eat  meat!"  said  Moorka,  opening  just  one 


eye.  "You  know  I  like  fish  too.  It  is 
really  pleasant  to  eat  fish,  and  up  to  this 
moment,  I  can't  say  which  I  like  better, 
liver  or  fish.  Out  of  politeness,  I  like  both. 
If  I  were  a  man,  I'd  be-either  a  fishman  or 
the  hutcher-boy  who  brings  us  the  liver. 
I  'd  feed  all  the  cat&f  rom  eve>y  cdrner  oi  the 
earth,  and  I  myself  would  always  have  my 
fill." 

After  eating,  Moorka  would  grow  in- 
terested in  things  going  on  around  him, 
just  by  way  of  amusement.  He  would  sit 
on  the  window  where  the  starling's  cage 
hung.  ;  It  was  pleasant  to  watch  the  fool- 
ish bird*  hopping  back  and  forth. 

"I  know  you,  you  old  rascal!"  the  star- 
ling would  call  to  him.  "You  don't  have 
to  be  watching  me!" 

"Perhaps  I  would  like  to  make  your  ac- 
quaintance," said  Moorka. 

"Yes,  I  know  how  you  make  friends," 
said  the  starling.  "Didn't  I  see  you  eat  a 


real  live  baby  sparrow?  .You  disgusting 
brute!" 

'Tm  not  at  all  disgusting.  On  the  con- 
trary, everybody  loves  me,"  said  Moorka. 
"Come  to  me.  I'll  tell  you  a  fairy  tale." 

"Oh,  you  rascal !"  said  the  starling.  "I 
know  what  a  fine  story-teller  you  are. 
Haven't  I  seen  you  tell  stories  to  a  roasted 
spring  chicken  stolen  from  the  kitchen?  I 
know  you !  You're  a  fine  one !" 

"Just  as  you  like,"  said  Moorka.  "I 
was  thinking  only  of  your  pleasure.  As 
for  that  roasted  spring  chicken,  I  did  eat 
him.  But  anyhow,  he  wasn't  good  for  any- 
thing else." 

Ill 

VERY  morning,  Moorka 
would  sit  near  the  stove  and 
listen  patiently  to  the  quarrel- 
ing of  Little  Milk  and  Little 
Cereal.  He  could  never  un- 


159 


derstand  what  it  was  all  about  and  only 
blinked  his  eyes. 

"I  am  Little  Milk!" 

"I  am  Little  Cereal!    Cereal!    Cereal!" 

"I  can't  understand  a  word  of  it.  No, 
I  don't  understand  it.  Why  are  they 
angry?  If  I  were  to  repeat,  Tm  a  Cat! 
I'm  a  Cat !  Fm  a  Cat  F  could  any  one  take 
offense  at  it?  I  can't  understand  it  at  all. 
However,  I  must  confess  I  prefer  Milk, 
especially  when  she  isn't  angry." 

When  they  quarreled,  Little  Cereal  and 
Little  Milk  would  become  so  heated,  they 
ran  all  over  the  stove.  Then  there  arose  a 
horrible  smell.  Cook  would  rush  in, 
wringing  her  hands,  and  crying : 

"Whatever  shall  I  do  now?  I  can 
never  turn  my  head  away  without  having 
something  happen." 

Setting  Milk  and  Cereal  aside,  Cook 
went  to  market  for  provisions.  Moorka 


at  once  made  the  best  of  this.  He  sat  down 
close  to  Little  Milk  and  said : 

"Mistress  Milk,  please  don't  be  angry." 

Little  Milk  grew  calmer  as  the  cat 
watched  her.  Moorka  walked  around  the 
spot  several  times,  fixed  his  whiskers  very 
gently  and  said : 

"Listen,  folks!  It  isn't  nice  to  quarrel. 
Choose  me  for  your  judge  and  I'll  settle 
your  affairs  very  quickly." 

The  black  roach,  sitting  in  the  crack  of 
the  wall,  almost  choked  with  laughter. 

"A  judge  indeed!  I  must  say!  Ha! 
Ha !  Ha !  It  took  you  to  think  of  it,  you 
old  rascal." 

But  Little  Milk  and  Little  Cereal  were 
very  glad  to  have  someone  settle  their 
quarrel  at  last,  for  they  really  did  not 
know  why  they  were  quarreling  or  what  it 
was  all  about. 

"Very  well.    Very  well.     I'll  unravel 


this,"  said  Kitty  Moorka.  "And  I'll  do  it 
honestly.  Let  us  begin  with  Milk." 

He  walked  around  the  pot  several  times, 
toucheditittle  \^i}k  gently  with  his  paw, 
blew  upon  Jijej'  again  and  started  lapping 
her  up. 

"Help  Help!"  shouted  the  black  roach. 
"He  will  lap  up  all  the  milk  and  I  will  be 
blamed  for  it." 

When  Cook  returned  from  market  and 
looked  for  the  milk,  the  pot  was  empty. 
Cat  Moorka  was  sleeping  sweetly  near  the 
stove  as  if  nothing  had  happened. 

"You  good-for-nothing!"  scolded  Cook, 
pulling  his  ear*  "Tell  me,  who  drank  the 
milk?" 

It  was  very  painful,  but  Moorka  pre- 
tended not  to  understand  anything.  He 
had  suddenly  become  speechless!  Then 
he  was  thrown  out  of  the  kitchen. 

Behind  the  door,  he  shook  himself, 


164 


smoothed  his  ruffled  fur,  curved  his  tail 
and  said : 

"If  I  were  Cook,  all  the  cats  would 
drink  milk  day  and  night.  However,  I  am 
not  angry  with  my  Cook,  because  this  is 
something  she  can  never  really  under- 
stand!" 


BED  TIME 
I 

ITTLE  VEROTCHKA'S  one  little 
eye  is  falling  asleep,    Verotch- 
ka's   one   little   ear  is   falling 
asleep. 
"Father,  are  you  here?" 


"Yes,  dear  child." 

"You  know,  father,  I  want  to  be  a 
Queen." 

Verotchka  sleeps.  She  smiles  as  she 
sleeps. 

There  are  so  many  flowers.  All  of  them 
are  smiling.  They  surround  Verotchka's 
little  bed;  they  whisper  and  laugh  in  their 
thin  little  voices. 

There  are  crimson  flowers,  blue  flowers, 
yellow  flowers,  azure,  pink,  scarlet,  white, 
as  if  a  rainbow,  falling,  struck  the  earth 
and  scattered  its  living  sparks  into  many- 
colored  lights. 

"Verotchka  wants  to  be  a  Queen,"  gaily 
proclaimed  the  Field  Bluebells,  swaying 
on  their  thin,  green  stems. 

"Oh,  how  comical  she  is!"  whispered 
the  modest  Forget-me-nots. 

"Ladies  and  gentlemen,  this  affair  needs 


serious  discussion,"  said  the  yellow  Dan- 
delion pertly. 

"What  does  it  mean  to  be  a  Queen?" 
asked  the  blue  Cornflower.  "I  grew  up  in 
a  field  and  I  cannot  understand  your  city 
ways." 

"It's  very  simple,"  said  the  pink  Car- 
nation. "It  is  so  simple  it  requires  no  ex- 
plaining. A  Queen  is  ...  is  ...  is 
.  .  .  You  don't  seem  to  understand  .  .  . 
How  strange  you  are !  A  Queen  is  like  a 
flower,  as  pink  as  I  am.  In  other  words, 
Verotchka  wants  to  be  a  pink  Carnation. 
Isn't  that  simple?" 

Everybody  laughed  gaily.  Only  the 
Roses  were  silent.  They  were  much 
offended. 

"Who  doesn't  know  that  the  Queen  of 
Flowers  is  a  Rose — delicate,  fragrant, 
marvellous?  And  suddenly  a  mere  pink 
Carnation  calls  herself  a  Queen.  It's  all 
nonsense." 


Finally  one  Rose  grew  angry  and,  turn- 
ing scarlet,  she  said:  "Pardon  me.  Ver- 
otchka  wants  to  be  a  Rose.  A  Rose  is  the 
Queen  because  everybody  loves  her." 

"Oh,  that  is  nice,"  said  Dandelion, 
growing  angry.  "If  that's  the  case,  where 
do  I  come  in?" 

"Dandelion,  please  don't  be  angry," 
pleaded  the  Wood  Bluebells.  "It  spoils 
your  temper  and  it  is  very  ugly  to  be 
angry.  Look  at  us.  We  are  silent,  al- 
though we  know  perfectly  well  Verotchka 
wants  to  be  a  Wood  Bluebell." 

II 

HERE  were  many  flowers  and 
they  all  talked  calmly  without 
arguing. 

All  the  field  flowers,  Lilies- 
of-the-Valley,  Violets,  For- 
get-me-nots, Bluebells,  Cornflowers,  Field 
Clovers,  were  so  very  modest;  while  the 


cultivated  flowers,  like  the  Roses,  Tulips, 
Lilies,  Narcissuses,  put  on  airs  like  rich 
children  in  their  Sunday  clothes. 

Verotchka  loved  the  modest  field 
flowers  best.  Of  these,  she  would  make 
wreaths  and  bouquets  for  the  table.  They 
were  all  so  nice. 

Verotchka  loves  us  very  much/'  whis- 
pered the  Violets.  "We  are  the  first  to 
arrive  in  spring.  We  come  here  as  soon 
as  the  snow  melts." 

"And  we,  too,"  said  the  Lilies-of-the- 
Valley.  "We  are  also  spring  flowers.  We 
are  not  exacting ;  we  come  direct  from  the 
woods." 

"It  is  not  our  fault  that  it  is  too  cold  for 
us  to  grow  in  the  fields,"  complained  the 
fragrant  curly  Stocks  and  Hyacinths. 
"We  are  only  visitors  here.  Our  native 
land  is  far  away,  in  a  warm  country  where 
there  is  no  winter.  Oh,  it  is  so  nice  there ! 
We  are  always  longing  for  our  native 


land.  Your  north  is  so  cold.  Verotchka 
loves  us,  and  very  much,  too." 

"It  is  also  very  nice  here,"  argued  the 
Field  Flowers.  "Of  course,  it  is  very  cold 
at  times,  but.it  is  healthy.  The  frost  kills 
our  bitterest  enemies,  worms  and  bugs  of 
all  kinds.  If  not  for  frost,  life  would  be 
very  difficult." 

"We  also  like  cold,"  said  the  Roses. 

The  Azaleas  and  Camelias  agreed  with 
this.  They  all  liked  the  cold  when  they 
were  through  blooming. 

"Ladies  and  gentlemen,  let  us  talk  about 
our  native  countries,"  suggested  White 
Narcissus.  "It  will  be  so  interesting. 
Verotchka  will  listen,  because  she  loves  us 
all." 

Then  they  all  talked  together.  Roses, 
with  tears,  remembered  the  Vale  of  Shiraz 
in  Persia;  the  Hyacinths  recalled  Pales- 
tine; the  Azaleas,  America;  the  Lilies, 
Egypt;  the  flowers  gathered  there  were 


17* 


from  all  corners  of  the  earth  and  each  one 
could  tell  many  wonderful  stories.  Most 
of  them  came  from  the  South,  where  there 
is  no  winter  and  much  sunshine. 

There  it  is  lovely — the  summer  is  eter- 
nal. The  south  is  full  of  enormous  trees, 
wonderful  birds,  many  butterflies,  beau- 
ties, resembling  flying  flowers,  and 
flowers  resembling  butterflies. 

"We  are  only  visitors  here  in  the  North. 
At  times,  we  feel  very  cold,"  whispered  all 
these  southern  flowers. 

The  native  Field  Flowers  felt  sorry  for 
them.  Really,  it  must  take  a  good  deal  of 
patience  to  stand  the  cold  north  wind,  the 
cold  rain  and  the  falling  snow.  Of 
course,  the  spring  snow  melts  quickly,  but 
it  is  snow,  nevertheless. 

"You  have  one  great  fault,"  exclaimed 
the  Cornflower,  after  listening  to  all  these 
stories.  "I  don't  deny  you  are,  at  times, 


more  beautiful  than  we,  simple  Field 
Flowers.  I  readily  admit  that,  and  then 
you,  too,  you  are  our  dear  visitors,  but 
your  main  fault  is  that  you  grow  only  for 
the  few  rich,  while  we  grow  for  every- 
body. In  that  we  are  kinder  than  you. 
For  example,  look  at  me !  You  will  find 
me  in  the  hands  of  every  country  child. 
Just  see  how  much  pleasure  I  give  to  the 
children  of  the  poor !  No  one  has  to  pay 
money  to  buy  me.  It  takes  only  a  walk  in 
the  woods  to  get  me.  I  grow  among  the 
wheat,  the  rye,  and  the  oats. 

Ill 

UTTLE  VEROTCHKA  listened 
and  wondered  at  these  stories  of 
the  flowers.  She  longed  to  see 
everything  for  herself — all  the 
wonderful  countries  of  which 
the  flowers  spoke. 


"If  I  were  only  a  Swallow  I  would  fly 
thither  at  once,"  said  Verotchka.  "Why 
haven't  I  wings !  Oh,  it  would  be  so  nice 
to  be  a  bird!" 

She  had  hardly  finished  speaking  when 
a  little  Lady  Bug  crept  up  to  her, — a  real 
Lady  Bug  all  red  with  tiny  black  spots,  a 
little  black  head,  thin  little  black  feelers 
and  thin  little  black  legs. 

"Let  us  fly,  Verotchka,"  whispered 
Lady  Bug,  twitching  her  feelers. 

"But  I  have  no  wings,  Lady  Bug,"  said 
Verotchka. 

"Get  on  my  back." 

"How  can  I?  You  are  so  small,  Lady 
Bug." 

"Just  watch  me,"  said  Lady  Bug. 

Verotchka  watched  and  wondered  more 
and  more.  Lady  Bug  stretched  out  her 
strong  upper  wings  and  doubled  in  size; 
then  she  opened  her  thin  cobwebby  lower 


wings  and  grew  still  larger.  She  grew 
under  Verotchka's  very  eyes  and  she  be- 
came so  large — large  enough  for  Ver- 
otchka  to  sit  comfortably  upon  her  back 
between  her  red  wings. 

"Are  you  comfortable,  Verotchka?" 
asked  Lady  Bug. 

"Very,"  said  Verotchka. 

"Then  hold  on  tight,"  said  Lady  Bug. 

Then  they  flew.  At  first  Verotchka  was 
afraid  and  closed  her  eyes.  It  seemed  to 
her  that  it  was  not  she  who  was  flying,  but 
as  if  cities,  woods,  rivers  and  mountains 
were  flying  beneath  her.  Then  it  seemed 
as  if  she  had  grown  small — as  small  as  a 
pin  head  and  as  light  as  the  down  of  Dan- 
delion. 

Lady  Bug  flew  fast  and  faster,  so  fast 
that  the  air  whistled  through  her  wings. 

"Look  down,  Verotchka,"  said  Lady 
Bug. 


to 


Verotchka  looked  down  and  clapped 
her  hands. 

"Oh,  how  many  Roses — red,  yellow, 
white,  pink,"  exclaimed  Verotchka.  The 
world  seemed  to  be  covered  with  a  carpet 
of  swaying  Roses.  "Let  us  descend,"  beg- 
ged Verotchka  of  the  Lady  Bug. 

They  descended  and  Verotchka  grew 
big  again,  as  big  as  she  was  before,  and 
Lady  Bug  grew  tiny  again. 

For  a  long  time  Verotchka  ran  about  in 
the  rose-field  and  gathered  a  huge  bunch 
of  Roses.  How  beautiful  they  were! 
Their  perfume  made  one  faint.  If  one 
could  only  carry  the  rose-field  to  the 
North,  where  Roses  were  mere  visitors ! 

"Now,  let  us  go  further,"  said  Lady 
Bug,  stretching  out  her  wings  again. 
Again,  Lady  Bug  grew  large  and  larger 
and  Verotchka  grew  small  and  smaller. 


IV 

>GAIN  they  flew.  It  was  all  so 
nice.  Above,  the  sky  so  blue; 
beneath,  the  water  still  bluer. 
They  flew  over  a  steep  rocky 
shore. 

"Will  we  really  fly  across  the  sea?" 
asked  Verotchka. 

"Yes.  But  you  must  sit  still  and  hold 
me  tight,"  said  Lady  Bug. 

At  first,  Verotchka  was  afraid,  but  after 
a  while  she  wasn't.  There  was  nothing 
but  sky  and  sea.  On  the  sea  sailed  ships 
like  huge  birds  with  white  wings.  The 
little  boats  looked  like  flies. 

Everything  was  lovely — so  nice.  Way 
yonder  was  the  shore,  low,  yellow,  sandy. 
It  was  the  mouth  of  some  huge  river  and 
near  it  gleamed  a  city  all  white,  as  if  built 
of  sugar.  Still  beyond,  one  saw  a  dead 


177 


desert,  where  stood  the  Pyramids.  Lady 
Bug  descended  upon  the  bank  of  the 
river.  Upon  it  grew  tall  Papyrus  and 
among  them  were  Lilies,  wonderful, 
delicate. 

"Your  home  is  very  lovely,"  said  Ver- 
otchka  to  the  Lilies.  "Does  winter  never 
come  here  to  you?" 

"What  is  winter?"  asked  the  Lilies, 
wonderingly. 

"Winter  is  the  time  snow  falls,"  said 
Verotchka. 

"And  what  is  snow?"  asked  the  Lilies. 

The  Lilies  even  laughed  at  Verotchka. 
They  thought  the  little  northern  girl  was 
making  fun  of  them.  It  is  true  that  every 
fall  huge  flocks  of  birds  from  the  North 
visited  them  and  told  them  about  the  win- 
ter. But  these  birds  had  never  really  seen 
winter.  They  were  only  repeating  what 
they  had  heard  and  Verotchka  could  not 


3 


vwwwyisvw* 

sM*wM9nMW&Si 


believe  that  there  was  no  winter,  for  that 
meant  no  need  of  warm  coats  or  warm 
shoes. 

They  flew  further.  Verotchka  won- 
dered no  longer  at  the  blue  sea,  the  moun- 
tains, the  sun-kissed  desert  and  the  Hya- 
cinths. 

"I'm  too  warm,"  complained  Ver- 
otchka. "You  know,  Lady  Bug,  I  don't 
think  .it's  nice  to  have  summer  all  the 
time." 

"It  all  depends  upon  what  one  is  accus- 
tomed to,"  said  Lady  Bug. 

They  flew  towards  high  mountains,  the 
tops  of  which  were  always  white  with 
snow.  There  it  wasn't  so  warm.  Beyond 
the  mountains,  stretched  deep,  dark  for- 
ests. Under  the  forest  trees,  it  was  dark, 
for  the  rays  of  the  sun  never  penetrated 
beyond  the  thick  tree  tops.  Monkeys 
swung  from  bough  to  bough.  The  woods 

181 


were  full  of  birds — green,  yellow,  blue. 
But  the  most  wonderful  of  all  were  the 
flowers  growing  directly  from  the  tree 
trunks.  There  were  flowers  like  fire, 
flowers  of  all  colors,  flowers  that  looked 
like  birds  and  butterflies.  The  whole  for- 
est seemed  to  blaze  with  many-colored 
living  fires. 

"These  are  Orchids,"  explained  Lady 
Bug. 

Here  it  was  all  a  tangle.  It  was  impos- 
sible to  walk. 

They  flew  further.  Beneath  them,  a 
huge  river  spread  between  green  banks. 
Lady  Bug  alighted  upon  a  huge  white 
flower  that  grew  in  the  water.  Verotchka 
had  never  before  seen  a  flower  so  large  as 
this. 

"This  is  a  holy  flower,"  explained  Lady 
Bug.  "It  is  called  'Lotus/  " 


V 

ITTLE  VEROTCHKA  had  seen 
so  much  that  she  finally  grew 
tired  and  wanted  to  go  home. 
Home  is  best. 

"I  love  white  snow,"  said 
Verotchka.  "It  isn't  nice  without  winter." 
Again  they  flew.  The  higher  they  flew, 
the  colder  it  grew.  Soon  there  appeared 
beneath  them  white  fields  and  only  the 
pine  woods  were  green.  Verotchka  was 
so  happy  when  she  saw  the  first  fir-tree. 

"Little  Fir-Tree!  Little  Fir-Tree!" 
called  Verotchka. 

"Hello,  Verotchka,"  answered  the 
Little  Fir-Tree  beneath  her. 

This  was  a  real  Christmas  tree.  Ver- 
otchka knew  her  at  once.  That  dear 
Christmas  tree !  Verotchka  bent  down  to 
tell  her  how  lovely  she  was  and  all  of  a 


sudden  she  felt  herself  going  down,  down, 
down. 

It  was  frightful.  She  turned  somer- 
saults in  the  air  several  times,  and  then  fell 
right  into  the  soft  white  snow.  Verotchka 
closed  her  eyes  with  fear  and  didn't  know 
whether  she  was  dead  or  alive. 

"How  did  you  get  here,  Little  One?" 
asked  somebody. 

Verotchka  opened  her  eyes  and  saw  a 
bent,  old  man,  all  gray.  She  knew  him  at 
once.  It  was  the  same  old  man  who 
brought  Christmas  trees  and  golden  stars, 
boxes  of  candy  and  wonderful  toys,  to  the 
good  children.  He  was  so  kind,  this  old 
man;  he  picked  her  up  in  his  arms  and 
covered  her  with  his  fur  coat,  asking  her 
again : 

"How  did  you  come  here,  Little  Girl?" 

"I  travelled  on  Lady  Bug's  back,  and  I 
saw  so  much,  Grandfather!" 


"So,  so." 

"I  know  you,  Grandfather.  You  bring 
Christmas  trees  to  children." 

"Yes,  yes.  I'm  fixing  one  now."  And 
he  pointed  to  a  tall  pole  that  didn't  look 
like  a  Christmas  tree  at  all. 

"What  sort  of  Christmas  tree  is  that, 
Grandfather?  It's  nothing  but  a  long 
stick." 

"Wait  and  see,"  said  Grandfather. 

Grandfather  carried  Verotchka  into  a 
tiny  village  almost  buried  in  snow.  Only 
the  roofs  and  chimneys  were  visible.  The 
country  children  were  all  waiting  for  the 
old  grandfather.  They  jumped  and 
shouted,  when  they  saw  him. 

"Christmas  tree !    Christmas  tree !" 

They  came  to  the  first  hut.  Grand- 
father got  an  unbroken  sheaf  of  oats,  tied 
it  to  the  end  of  the  pole  and  stuck  the  pole 
on  the  roof.  Immediately  the  tiny  birds 


that  do  not  go  away  for  the  winter  flew 
upon  it  from  all  sides  and  began  pecking 
the  seeds. 

"It  is  our  Christmas  tree,"  they  shouted. 

Suddenly,  Yerotchka  felt  very  happy. 
That  was  the  first  time  she  had  seen  a 
Christmas  tree  made  for  the  winter  birds. 

"What  a  kind  old  grandfather!" 

One  little  Sparrow,  bustling  about  more 
than  the  others,  recognized  Verotchka 
and  called  out ! 

"Why,  this  is  Verotchka!  I  know  her 
very  well.  Many,  many  times  has  she 
scattered  crumbs  for  me." 

Other  Sparrows  also  recognized  her 
and  piped  noisily  with  joy. 

Then  came  another  Sparrow  that 
turned  out  to  be  the  squabbler.  He  began 
pushing  everybody  aside  and  snatching 
the  best  seeds.  This  was  the  same  Spar- 

186 


row  who  had  quarreled  with  Stickelback. 
Verotchka  knew  him  at  once. 

"Hello,  Master  Sparrow!"  she  said. 

"Is  that  you,  Verotchka?    Why,  hello  !" 

Sparrow  Squabbler  hopped  on  one  leg, 
winked  knowingly  with  one  eye  and  said 
to  the  old  man  : 

"Why,  this  is  Verotchka,  who  wants  to 
be  the  Queen.  I  myself  heard  her  say 
that." 

"Do  you  want  to  be  a  Queen,  Little 
One?"  asked  the  Old  Man. 

"Yes,  very  much,  Grandfather,"  said 
yerotchka. 

"Very  well,"  said  the  wise  old  man. 
"There  is  nothing  simpler.  Every  Queen 
is  a  woman  and  every  woman  a  Queen. 
Now  go  home  and  tell  that  to  all  the  other 
little  girls." 

Lady  Bug  was  very  glad  to  get  away. 


*2322  if 


She  was  afraid  that  the  quarrelsome  Spar- 
row would  gobble  her  up. 

So  Verotchka  and  Lady  Bug  flew  home. 
Faster  and  faster  they  flew.  At  home,  all 
the  flowers  were  waiting  for  Verotchka. 
They  had  been  wondering  what  is  a  Queen 
all  the  time  she  was  away. 


ULLA-LULLABY.  Verotchka's 
one  eye  is  sleeping;  the  other 
little  eye  is  open.  Verotchka's 
one  little  ear  is  sleeping;  the 
other  ear  listens. 
Now  everybody  gathered  about  Ver- 
otchka's bed.  Bold  Rabbit,  Bear  Mishka, 
Squabbling  Rooster  and  Sparrow,  Black- 
headed  Crow,  Stickelback  and  tiny,  tiny 
Cacinella.  They  were  all  there  near  Ver- 
otchka. 

"Father,  I  love  them  all,"  whispered 
Verotchka.  "I  love  even  the  Black 
Roach,  Father." 

Verotchka's  other  eye  is  asleep.  The 
other  little  ear  is  also  asleep.  Near  Ver- 
otchka's bed,  the  green  spring  grass  grows 
gaily,  the  flowers  are  smiling — many 
flowers,  blue,  pink,  yellow,  azure  and 
scarlet.  The  green  birch  bends  over  Ver- 


otchka's  bed  and  whispers  something,  lov- 
ingly. 

The  sun  is  shining,  the  sand  is  yellow, 
and  the  blue  sea  waves  beckon- to  Ver- 
otchka  to  come  to  them. 

Sleep,  Verotchka,  and  grow  strong! 

Lulla-Lullaby. 


TH6-END 


UCSB  LIBRARY 


A     000583299     3 


